


Hello

by Peetabreadgirl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peetabreadgirl/pseuds/Peetabreadgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Katniss has to return home for the Holidays after being gone for four years, she can't deny any longer that she made a huge mistake. Can she fix it? Or is all hope lost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Me

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write something for Christmas, but just haven’t had the time. I’m off for 11 days now, and tonight, Christmas Eve, I’m writing down what’s been in my head for a month. If the title seems familiar, it’s because, yes, I Everlarked Adele - the Queen of heartbreak. *gasp* Is this Everlark? you ask… follow me and find out. :) Been wanting to write this since I heard the song! The setting is the holidays because, well, it’s Christmas, y’all. Leave some love for me!
> 
> PS - turn on your ipods to this song while you read. I know you’ve got it!

I lay stretched out on my stomach across my bed, watching the wind whip through the palm trees outside my window. It’s two days before Christmas and I can’t seem to keep thoughts of home out of my mind. The tropical landscape fades until all I can see are snow covered hills and neighborhoods illuminated with twinkling decorations, some set to music. I try to push away the memories of caroling until late in the evening and then warming up next to the fire with a cup of hot chocolate, steam rising underneath my nose; the warm liquid soothing my vocal chords, tired out from singing too loud and laughing too hard.

 

It sounds like the kind of life anyone would want to remember. But he was there. He is what makes it hard to relive that time. I cannot forget the boyish blond hair that fell in his eyes when he let it grow too long, vivid baby blue’s that always found their way straight to my soul. A smile that could melt the icicles hanging from the rooftops. A smile that I managed to crush when I broke his heart.

 

It’s the most haunting part of what I did. Peeta was the most jovial of souls, the kindest of hearts. I haven’t seen him in years, but I carry with me the last image of the wreckage I caused. Pain-filled eyes, trembling lips, broad shoulders slumped in defeat. He begged me not to go. Told me he loved me over and over. That he would do anything for me, and I didn’t doubt his sincerity. But how could he know? No one knows the future. People change. My father did.

 

The whole time I was packing my bags, my heart was pounding in my chest like a prisoner trying to escape, trying to be somewhere other than where I was taking it - away from him. But I left anyway, put a million miles between us. Too afraid of losing him. Too afraid of having Peeta to do me what I did to him.

 

My feelings had become so strong for him. It was something I told myself I never wanted. I had always wanted to be independent of the kind of love that debilitates you and makes you susceptible to heartache. I watched my mother go through that, and even though I always loved the way my father looked at her, and she at him, from the time he left her for a woman with more youth, I never wanted a man to look at me that way and expect me to return those feelings.

 

I realized four Christmases ago, when Peeta gave me a simple diamond ring as my gift, that it had crept up on me anyway. When I looked into his stunning blue eyes, I saw it; the look my father gave my mother when I was young. The look that told her she was all he ever wanted. Until he didn’t.

 

I spent a year trying to move on, throwing myself into my job teaching fourth grade science, going out on weekends with friends, talking with attractive strangers at bars and consuming too much alcohol in a desperate effort to forget. Three years later he’s on my mind more than if I had stayed. I was wrong. It was such a mistake. But what can I do now? It’s been too long.

 

It took about a year before I could I finally admit to myself I couldn’t move on. After one too many nights with my head over the toilet, Peeta still assaulting my blurry thoughts, I tried calling him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry. Sorry for what I’d done. Maybe if I could talk to him, know that he was okay, I could have closure. It felt like I dialed his number a thousand times. And a thousand times he didn’t answer.

 

Looking over to the nightstand, I breathe deeply when my eyes land on the calling card from home - my sister’s wedding invitation. I feel elated for her, and horrified for myself. I’ll be leaving for the tiny town I grew up in tomorrow. The town where nothing ever happened and everyone knew your business. I escaped the inevitable gossip that went around after I left. Peeta most likely had to deal with it all, unless he made it out of there too. I wouldn’t know. I never ask my sister about him. She knows not to speak about him. And my mother has no information for me. She can’t have a normal conversation with me, or anyone else for that matter. Even after all these years she still can’t face what happened. My mother’s fate is what keeps me from running back to him on the days I’m determined to hear his voice and the nights I’m desperate to feel his body. That, and the fact that I’ve put so much distance between us, and not just in mileage.

 

But tomorrow I’ll be going back. It’s a small enough town. If he’s still there, he probably already knows I’m coming back. I wonder if he’ll stay away? I wonder if I’ll be able to stay away? I’ve been successful at it for a long while now, but that’s because we haven’t been physically near each other. He always had a magnetic pull on me.

 

I dread what my heart will do when I see him, what his heart may do to him when he sees me. The mended parts of them tearing open like a fresh wound, experiencing the pain all over again. Should I call? Prim warned me she invited him, since we all grew up together. He was like a big brother to her. I can’t blame her for wanting him there. It’s my fault things are the way they are.

 

Picking up the phone, I dial the ten numbers I’ve never managed to forget. I tell myself it won’t matter if he answers, even though a small part of my heart lights up with hope.

 

The hope is extinguished when I hear his voice mail a few rings later. He sounds… good. Surely he’s moved on, but part of me wonders why he won’t take my calls if he has. Did I hurt him so badly that he is angry and bitter now? Does he carry the pain on his back like one of the fifty pound bags of flour he used to move around when he worked in his parents’ bakery all those years ago?

 

The beep sounds, halting my thoughts.

 

“Hello?” I ask, wondering if he remembers the sound of my voice. “It’s me.” He knows it’s me, right? “It’s… it’s Katniss.” And just that quickly I see it again - the fading smile, the questioning eyes, the falling countenance that used to be so bright. I did that. My heart is pierced like an arrow through its target.

 

“I was wondering if… well, maybe you’ve heard. I’ll be home tomorrow. For Prim’s wedding.” My voice trails off to a whisper, the phone shakes in my hand, my stomach lurches at what I’m about to say.

 

“I was wondering if, if you’d like to meet? I want to talk about… everything,” I say, knowing he will understand what I mean. I ask him to call me if it’s agreeable to him. I don’t know whether I’ll hear from him or not, but as I pack my bag for the five-hour flight across the country tomorrow, I set my mind to knowing that at least I’ve tried.

 

 

I take a seat in coach, readying myself for the long flight back to Baltimore, then a two hour drive north across the border of Pennsylvania to Panem City, my home town. My book is in the seat pocket, my iPod turned to airplane mode and queued to my favorite playlist. My nerves are shot. I got very little sleep last night and the thoughts in my head are filling up faster than this plane. Is it just me or is everyone suffocating in here? I take a few deep breaths, noting how everyone else seems normal.

 

“Vodka cranberry, please,” I tell the attendant as she takes pre-orders while passengers stow their luggage and fasten their seatbelts. I need something to calm me down. Peeta never called back, but I have a feeling, a very strong feeling, that I might see him soon.

 

My lips turn up in a tight smile as a young woman takes a seat next to me. She’s probably close to my age, and what most people would call an all-American girl. Definitely a California-type; long, blonde hair that falls past her shoulders, blue eyes, hourglass shape. She’s dressed in a fitted, black track suit that makes her curves look incredible, and I’m instantly jealous. I’ve never been that lucky. She smiles back at me, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. I run my tongue over my teeth subconsciously, my eyes quickly flitting away from hers.

 

I tap the play button on the screen of my ipod, turning the music up loud enough so that anyone near me can hear it. She seems like the type that might try small talk, and I’m certainly not a person who wants to be engaged in awkward chatter. Especially since my nerves are already on high alert.

 

She digs out an iPad and turns her attention to it, which I’m grateful for. We don’t talk the entire time, and I fall asleep somewhere around hour two of the flight. I wake to the attendant tapping my shoulder, asking me to stow my tray table and adjust my seat back. With the back of my hand I wipe a small amount of drool from the side of my mouth, then dry my hand on my jeans. I let my hair down and run my fingers through it, then pinch my cheeks for color and try to plump my lips a little by rubbing them together. It’s just Prim picking me up, but we haven’t seen each other since she came to L.A. a few years after I moved out there. I’ve missed so much since I left and I think all too often about what would have happened if I’d stayed. Would I be on the way to inevitable heartbreak? Would I be happy? Questions that will never be answered roll through my mind one at a time as everyone stands to exit the plane. I grab my bag and make my way past my blonde seat-mate, who is digging through her purse and reapplying lip gloss. I’m just ready to see Prim and stretch my cramped legs.

 

My eyes are down, following the lines in the dingy jetway carpet, until I reach the threshold and glance up, looking for Prim’s curly blonde hair, the most excitement I’ve felt in months buzzing around inside me.

 

I freeze, seeing the color I’m looking for directly in front of me. But it doesn’t belong to Prim. I want to move. Something. Anything. An arm. A finger. A lung. _Please, please breathe, Katniss_ , I tell myself. The very large terminal is becoming stifling, and I feel perspiration gather on my brow and at the back of my neck.

 

He stands, just as frozen as me, hands in his pockets, lips slightly parted. My attention is drawn to them, and every memory that was made with them fused to mine surfaces, causing a different kind of excitement than what I had been feeling moments ago to begin rising. It’s a longing, really. I miss him. I’ve _missed_ him all along.

 

New thoughts tumble through my mind, knocking into the old ones and pushing them aside. He got my message. He came to see me. He wants to talk about... _everything_. My heart leaps in my chest and just as I’m about to smile I hear his name from behind me.

 

“Peeta!” a female voice squeals happily. I turn to see the all-American, California girl that sat next to me on the flight running in her trendy wedged track shoes, her arms stretched out, purse swinging mildly back and forth with the exertion of her dainty run.

 

It’s all in slow motion, their reunion, the recognition in Peeta’s features, the crumbling of the heart I thought I could put back together with distance. Her arms wrap around his neck, and it’s only when I see his eyes, the color of sadness, that I know for sure that he didn’t come for me. It takes him a moment to break out of the trance, his gaze shifting away. Smiling down at her, he pulls his arms from his pockets, encircling her waist. He picks up her bag, kisses her on the lips and they walk hand-in-hand out of the terminal.

 

I don’t hear Prim say my name until she’s right in front of me, practically yelling at me. I don’t let my arms rest around her until hers envelope me in a tight hug. She pulls away, gives me a sympathetic smile, and drags me to the parking lot.

 

What happened between us clearly doesn’t tear him apart anymore.

 

 


	2. I Was Wondering

 

I’ve never been more grateful for Prim than I am right now. Driving home from the airport, she tries to distract me with conversation about her wedding on New Year’s Eve, about the holiday plans she’s made for the two of us. There was even mention of the unseasonably warm weather. There would normally be a foot of snow on the ground already, but there is just a dusting of white powder so far.

 

It glints and gleams as we wind through the hills and valleys on our way to Panem City. As hard as I try to forget what I saw when I landed at the airport, as hard as I try to concentrate on what Prim is saying, it’s all too much. There is something eating away at my insides, and I know I will not be able to fake my way through this week. Being happy for Prim and enjoying our time together before she gets married would be so much easier… _if_.

 

If what? If so many things were different. _If_ I hadn’t seen Peeta with her. _If_ I hadn’t witnessed them kiss and hold hands. And walk away happy. The real if, though, is _if_ I hadn’t left the way I did. Or left at all. The knowledge that I can’t change any of this is gnawing at me enough that, at the very least, I will end up with an ulcer the size of an orange in my side. There is nowhere to go, no way to escape it. To get through this week I will have to finally face what I’ve done.

 

I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t notice until we’re almost home that Prim has become quiet, and the soft tunes of White Christmas play out from the radio.

 

“Mom’s been doing better,” she tells me as she parks the car in the driveway and unfastens her seatbelt. Mom. I haven’t given a thought to her, or anyone really, since I saw Peeta. I force myself out of the car, having no desire to even do the simplest of tasks right now. I just want to be alone. But I can’t. There’s another person that’s been waiting for me - at least that’s what Prim says.

 

I give Prim a quick smile of what I’m hoping looks like assurance, before following her into the house. It’s warm and cozy, just like I remember, and smells like cinnamon apples and firewood.

 

Mom is sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, knitting needle in hand and what must be the world’s longest scarf rolled out at her feet. It easily crosses the living room carpet and I have to step over it to get to her.

 

“Mom?” Prim says sweetly, placing her hand on my mother’s arm. “Katniss is here.”

 

My mother looks up at me, and I can see remorse in her features, which have probably creased and wrinkled more than they should have. She’s not old by any means, but age isn’t always what makes you mature. Sometimes it’s the circumstances you’re handed.

 

Here now, looking at my mother, I can see we’ve both been handed those types of circumstances by the same man - my Father. Her husband. He left all of us. I instantly feel guilt weighing down on me as I allow myself to think about what happened. I’ve pushed that situation far from my mind for so long. I never wanted to think of my father again after having to raise Prim and take care of my half-lucid mother. The heartbreak was crippling to her, and by default to myself and Prim.

 

“Hi, Mom,” I greet her as cheerily as I can manage under the current situation. Mom pats my hand and smiles at me. This is definitely more than I expected, but the smile is… not familiar.

 

“How are you, Katniss?” she asks me, going back to her knitting. While I’m surprised that she has the presence of mind to ask me how I am, there is something distant in her tone.

 

“I’m good, Mom. I, um, like your scarf,” I say lamely, not knowing what else to talk about.

 

“It’s a table runner, dear,” she tells me casually, as if I should have figured it out on my own. I cast Prim a quick glance and she nods her head toward the kitchen.

 

“Mom, Katniss and I are going into the kitchen. We’ll be back,” Prim says clearly after leaning down to kiss her cheek.

 

“That’s good, Primmy. I’ll be here,” mom responds, never taking her eyes off the needle and yarn.

 

Once in the kitchen, Prim fixes a glass of milk and warms it precisely for eighteen seconds.

 

“Dr. Aurelius says she’s blocked out the incident altogether, and everything and everyone with it. So if she seems to be a little isolated, that’s why,” Prim explains.

 

Dr. A is the therapist my mother has been seeing since the year after my Father left. He was a friend of my parents’ and offered to help her pro bono when I felt she was ready. I held off for a while, thinking she wouldn’t need anyone to get through it. That we three could do it together. However, as the year went on, I realized she needed professional help, and she’s been seeing Dr. A ever since.

 

“So does she remember me?” I ask as fear stabs my heart that my mother may not even know who I am. It would explain the detachment I felt earlier.

 

“She hasn’t forgotten you, Katniss,” Prim admonishes me gently, in only the way she can. I know she doesn’t mean to, but standing here, now, I feel guilty for leaving. I’m starting to see that I left so much more than just the possibility of heartbreak, though I’m not sure I escaped that one unscathed anyway. “She’s just chosen that the memories surrounding Dad are too painful, and in order to forget that part of her life, she has forgotten most things associated with it. It’s kind of a... selective amnesia. At least that’s the way Dr. A explains it to me.”

 

Prim says she’ll be right back, and leaves the kitchen to take mother her warmed milk. I pour myself a glass of water, suddenly parched, and feel fatigue setting in. I have an urge to go to my room and lay down for a bit.

 

“You know it would help if you were around more,” I hear Prim say as she comes back into the kitchen. I know she’s right, but I hang my head in defeat.

 

“You know I can’t, Prim. I’ve ruined too much.”

 

“You can do anything you want to do, Katniss,” she replies simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to just turn back up in this small town. I turn to go up to my old room, thinking about how wrong she is the whole way there.

 

 

Voices from downstairs wake me, and I startle as I look around trying to figure out where I am. Feet pound on the steps and the door is thrown open by a beaming Prim as she bounces over to where I’m laying, landing right on top of me.

 

“Time to go! Rory is here and we’re meeting the guys down the street in ten minutes for caroling. Up and at ‘em, Katniss!” she squeals excitedly as she yanks the toasty blanket off me, exposing me to the chill in the air.

 

“Burrrrr!” Prim hugs herself as she walks quickly to the open window, shutting it tight. “You and your open windows. Wherever did you pick up that awful habit?” she asks. I fight the memories that come crashing down on me at her innocent question as I drag the blanket back over my head and burrow down into the mattress. She wouldn’t know. She was never there the nights Peeta and I would sleep, tangled up in sheets and each other, the smell of mint from our toothpaste and the lingering scent of cinnamon from the bakery wafting between us. He always preferred the windows open, and we spent so many nights together that it just kind of stuck with me. When I moved away I tried sleeping with them closed, but I felt like I was shutting him out completely, and even though I’d physically separated from him, I wasn’t ready emotionally. I suppose that I’ve done it for so long that it’s just a habit now.

 

“I’m not going, Prim,” I grumble from under the blanket. I feel it being ripped away from me roughly and roll over to see an indignant Prim, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side in a sassy attitude I haven’t seen on her since her teen years.

 

“Yes, you are!”

 

“Prim, I can’t,” I tell her, quickly adding to my statement when I can see she wants to argue. “And don’t give me that line about doing anything I want to. We both know Peeta will be there… _accompanied_ ,” I say, rolling my eyes at the disgust I feel when I think of Peeta with another girl. _That_ girl.

 

“Katniss, Peeta hasn’t even said he’s coming. And now that he knows you’re here, he’ll probably stay away. Please, Katniss? It’ll be just like old times,” Prim begs. “We’ll laugh and sing, make snow angels, well okay, we need a little more snow for snow angels, but still! Hot chocolate at-”

 

I glare at her as she freezes, the question evident enough on my face, but I go ahead and ask it anyway. “Where Prim? At Mellark’s?” I pause to let sink in the fact that I literally cannot go out in this town without running into memories of Peeta, or, even worse, running into him physically. “No thanks.”

 

“Katniss,” Prim starts with a nurturing tone I haven’t heard come from her before. “He’s moved on. So should you. And you two should be able to be in the same public space living your lives. Don’t come back just to run away again.”

 

As I look into her eyes, I wonder when my baby sister grew up. I’ve missed so much since I went away. I can’t miss anymore. Prim will be married by the end of the year, and another milestone of her life will be over all too quickly. Plus, it’s hard to say no to Prim since she is kind of like my first child. There are times I want to spoil her and times I want to discipline her. We never really got to have a sisterly relationship since I had to make her do homework and dole out chores for each of us.

 

I breathe deeply as the urge to spoil battles its way to the top, and I know I can’t hide away in the house forever. I have to get out there sometime. I tell myself it will be nice to see some of the people we grew up with, even though I don’t fully agree yet. Prim is right, though. Peeta may not show up since he knows I’m in town.

 

“Alright. Give me ten minutes,” I say.

 

“You have seven,” Prim tells me, beaming victoriously and tapping at her watch as she leaves.

 

The air is chilly and damp as we set off to meet the caroling crew. We may get moisture tonight, I think as I tug my gloves on and wrap my scarf a little tighter around my neck.

 

“Katniss!” my old friend, Gale, calls to me as Prim, her fiance, Rory, and I meet them at the end of the block. I can’t help grin from ear to ear as I see our old group waiting there. Along with Gale is his best friend, Rye, who also happens to be Peeta’s older brother. He looks me up and down, with the faintest hint of displeasure, before a grin creeps across his face and he wraps me in a bear hug.

 

“Katty!” he calls my nickname playfully, rubbing the top of my head with his knuckles and tugging strands of hair out of my braid.

 

“Stop it, Rye!” I scowl at him as I push him away.

 

“Some things never change,” Gale teases as he gives me a warm hug. “We’ve missed you.”

 

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” I say. And it’s true, though I wouldn’t have known it if I hadn’t come back.

 

I’m so caught up in exchanging hugs and smiles I don’t hear the footsteps trudging towards us until it’s too late.

 

“Hi, everyone,” a cheery voice says from behind me. My mind’s eye flashes back to just this morning, when that same voice called out to Peeta, and it’s not the cold that freezes me in place. Prim catches my eyes, and hers reflect the dread I’m feeling. There’s nothing I can do. It’s time to face the music.

 

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… short updates, but that keeps me motivated. Trying to update daily this week to get it done. I can’t make promises because as soon as I do something will come up. I’m not anticipating anything until Friday, so hopefully I can churn out a few thousand words a day. Fingers crossed. What do you want to see happen? Talk to me! Pbg
> 
> PS - If anyone has an image, or can make a banner of Katniss on the phone, please message me. :)


	3. If After All These Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the song, it’s obvious he’s avoided her all those years because what she did was awful. She broke his heart bigtime. I’m trying to stay true to the song, as well as Everlark. I know it seems harsh, and this chapter will be no different, but just stick with me. :)

The sight that awaits me as I swivel to face her is worse than I expected. I watch silently, trying to compose my features so I don’t look as shell-shocked as I feel, as _my_ friends greet _my_ ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend as though they’ve known her for years. Oddly, the only introduction that needs to be made is mine.

 

“Hi, I’m Cassie,” the girl says as she holds out her hand. Her smile is radiant, and as much as I hate to admit it, she’s gorgeous. Though I gathered that when I first saw her on the plane. She genuinely looks happy to meet me, which makes me think she has no idea who I am, or rather who I _was,_ to Peeta. Having no other course of action to take than to shake her hand, I reach out, trying to hide the trembling I feel in my limbs.

 

“You sat next to me on the way here, right?” she says as she begins to make conversation with me as Peeta, who has been on the opposite side of the group as me and has yet to make eye contact, greets the rest of our friends. I fix my gaze on the one person I couldn’t care less to look at, and try desperately not to look at the person I find myself wanting to.

 

“Yeah, yeah I guess I did.”

 

“Small world!” she says brightly, showing off rows of perfect teeth, not even a smudge of the deep, red lipstick she’s wearing staining them.

 

“Hey, Katniss,” Peeta says to me as he comes to stand next to Cassie. He doesn’t put his arm around her, but the front of his shoulder connects with the back of hers, and she leans her head on him. His eyes are searching my face, but never lock with my own. “Long time no see,” he says impassively, as if there was never anything between us; old acquaintances catching up quickly before moving on to something more interesting.

 

“Yeah, it’s been a while. You, you look good,” I spit out as I try not to show my discomfort. I’ve never fooled anyone with my acting skills and I’m pretty sure I’m doing a terrible job as I take in the silent stares of everyone else.

 

“Let’s get this caroling thing going,” I say whirling away from the happy looking couple in an attempt to get the attention pointed somewhere else. I cringe when I hear my voice, high pitched and more exuberant than ever. I flash Cassie what I hope is a matching, thousand-watt smile and tell her I’m glad she’s here, even though I don’t mean a word of it. I can tell already she’s going to be hard to hate, and I will have no excuse for it, keeping my extreme dislike to myself because the seed of it already exists inside me.

 

We all begin to walk across the street, the awkwardness of a moment ago forgotten by most, Prim’s arm through mine as she tugs me along to the first house. The chill in the air turns even colder as flakes of snow float around us, dotting the ground with white. I stand on the outside of the group, thankful that Peeta and Cassie are on the opposite side and I don’t have to look at them.

 

We sing a quick round of Jingle Bells, followed by Silent Night, as four families come out of the neighboring houses to listen. I try to focus on what I’m doing, rather than what I’m feeling. I really do want to have fun tonight. And I really do want to be happy for Peeta. I’m sure it will come, but for now it will have to be me staying away from him. And her.

 

So, as the night wears on I keep my distance. I don’t look in his direction often, the sight of his fingers entwined with hers or their arms around each other too much, and he never glances at me as far as I can tell. I’m disappointed, but what did I expect?

 

The flakes are falling harder now, and have grown into fat clumps that stick to everything in sight, including our eyelashes. The tops of all our heads are white as we walk to Mellark’s, eager to warm up with hot chocolate and the inside of a heated building.

 

My stomach begins to feel uneasy as I spot the bakery at the end of the block, and I think this is my cue for departure. I tug on Prims elbow.

 

“I think I’m going to head back,” I tell her. She gives me a disappointed but understanding look.

 

“Just stay for a minute, Katniss,” she whispers. “It might look strange for you to leave now, if you get what I mean.”

 

A large cloud of mist makes its way upwards as I huff out a sigh. She’s right. I’ve come this far, I might as well go a little further to avoid suspicion. Suspicion of what, though? It’s been four years. Surely no one suspects Peeta and I haven’t moved on. Is that what Prim means? It’s obvious he has, anyway. Less obvious for me since I didn’t show up with a significant other, but the fact that I left speaks for itself, right?

 

I stop just inside the door as the jingle of the bell and the familiar smell of the bakery plays with the fond memories I have of this place. _Hello,_ they seem to say, taunting me; the decision I made. I remember them well.

 

I’ve heard time’s supposed to heal you. But, with the evidence of what’s going on in my head, and my heart, I haven’t done much of that. And as I look around to see nothing has physically changed since I left, I can’t help but think about the differences there are now. My friends, my sister, my ex, his new girl - all huddled together passing around mugs of steaming hot chocolate, laughing about the town drunk Haymitch, and how he always tries to dance to Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town, just to fall over in the snow and the guys have to help him back onto his porch. It’s a tradition between all of us. Or was, anyway.

 

“Here, Katniss,” Peeta says, appearing in front of me and holding out a mug of chocolate. I can feel a few eyes on us. We haven’t spoken since we said hello at the beginning of the night, so I’m not sure what to say or do. I guess this is his olive branch of sorts, an amendment to what’s broken between us. Can it be mended? And if I take it, does it mean that I’m okay with all of this?

 

I back up, hitting the door as I realize I don’t fit here, on this... ‘other side’ of Peeta. The side where we are not together. “I...um, I have to g-go. Sorry,” I apologize lamely as I fling the door open, the cold smacking me in the face. I’m halfway into the small parking lot when I hear him call my name.

 

“Katniss,” he says. “Wait.” The command sounds calm, completely opposite of the frantic voices in my head telling me to run. To go home and lock myself in my room until I can get a quicker flight back to California. That would be no good, though, I think, remembering I would miss the whole reason I came home - Prim’s wedding. So I do what he says, and I can feel the exact moment he reaches me, the heat emanating from his body, even through all of the clothes we’ve layered on. It’s probably just me reacting to him being so close after all this time.

 

He takes a last step toward me as I turn around slowly to face him, and he slips on a patch of ice. I reach out to try and steady him, but as he collapses he pulls me down on top of him. We freeze when we realize what happened, how he ended up on his back with me on his chest, our noses just a breadth apart and the smell of chocolate on him. I itch to reach out and touch him, to brush back the few strands of hair that hang down across his eyes. To lace my fingers together across the back of his neck the way I used to, letting him know I wanted him to kiss me.  

 

We lay there for what seems like forever, in silence, our eyes searching each other’s expressions, though I’m not sure what for exactly. I find myself hoping to see longing in his, some sign that he misses me, and I desperately try to fix remorse onto mine. I’m terrible with words, but I want to convey to him how sorry I am.

 

All I can make out from him is confusion as he breaks our stare, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Katniss,” Peeta starts, and I answer with a ‘hmmm’, too lost in memories of other times we ended up like this. “Can you, um... ?” I feel like an idiot when I realize he’s asking me to get off of him, and I scramble up to my feet quickly. I’m so flustered I don’t even offer a hand to help him up. I concentrate on brushing invisible snow from my coat before I feel the need to say it.

 

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. HIs next words make it evident he doesn’t understand.

 

“Don’t be, it was my clumsiness that-”

 

“No, Peeta,” I interrupt him. “Not for falling on you. For everything. For what I did.” His eyes grow darker as he levels a glare at me, realizing what I’m referring to. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry-”

 

“This isn’t the time, Katniss. Or the place.” He looks back to the bakery, and through the window I can see our friends inside, carrying on with the festivities. No one seems to miss us.

 

“Maybe not, but I tried to call you. Many times.” This information doesn't seem to be of any consequence to him. He fidgets with his hands, glancing around the area.

 

“Let's just drop it, okay?” he says, ruffling his hair with his hands like he used to do when we would argue. Like he did the last time I saw him. “Let it rest. It is what it is.”

 

His words are like a slap in the face, and anger and annoyance take over. Before I can stop myself or think better of it, I speak my mind. “I know I messed up, Peeta, but at very least let me try to make it right.”

 

His head snaps up, and his eyes, once filled with laughter and affection, now full of pain and rage, bore into mine.

 

“You think saying sorry can fix this?” I'm startled at the intensity in his voice. “You want to talk about this here? Now?” he challenges me, and I can feel the resentment he's been holding onto in the years since we've been apart. I don’t know whether to answer, or what my answer would be anyway. I think we need to talk about it, but now I’m second guessing my decision to bring it up. Peeta doesn’t let me make one, though, as he continues, his voice becoming louder as he speaks.

 

“You broke me, Katniss!” he admits, his arms flying out to the side, like an invitation to finish him off. “There is a really nice girl in there, who says she loves me, and I can’t seem to move forward with her. I find myself not being able to trust her because _you-_ ” he points a finger at me, dangerously close to my chest, “were scared. _You_ left me when all I did was promise to love you. Did I ever give you a reason to doubt me, Katniss?” he asks, and I shake my head ‘no’. Because he didn’t.

 

“I doubt myself all the time. Wondering if loving someone is ever going to be good enough for them. All I wanted was you, Katniss. I would have done anything- _anything_ \- for you!” he yells, his voice raspy with emotion. I know in my heart what he’s saying is true, but it’s not my heart I was listening to all those years ago.

 

“I came for you.” My eyes multiply in size at this revelation. He’s looking down, kicking at the newly fallen snow with the toe of his boot.

 

“You came? For me?” I repeat quietly, still unsure of what I just heard.

 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice relaxing as he begins to tell me his story. “Six months after wallowing in misery, missing you like crazy. I decided I just needed to get you back. Grovel if I had to.” I stay completely still, out of fear. Fear that I want to hear what he’s about to say, and fear about what truth he will reveal.

 

“I got your address from Prim, flew out to L.A., went to your apartment.” This news is shocking to me because not one time did I answer the door to find Peeta on the other side of it. “You weren’t home. It was a Friday night. So… I went across the street to wait… someplace called the Hob,” he recalls absently. I know the place he speaks of, and realize that Peeta must have done what he said. He did come. My heart soars and breaks all at the same time because here we are, and nothing between us is good.

 

“I waited until almost midnight. And then there you were. I could see you walking toward your building, stumbling really, and some guy’s arm draped across your shoulders.” Peeta’s eyes look murderous as he recalls the events of that night. “You both went into the building.” I can hear the heartbreak in his voice as he reveals what he thinks happened.

 

“I couldn’t wait around to see how long he stayed,” he whispers, his eyes locking onto mine. They are clear, shining with what I assume are unshed tears. He blinks, though, and tries to compose himself.

 

“I wanted to physically cause him harm, but I realized it wasn’t him that was to blame. I realized I had spent six months of my life pining after you, while you were moving on. So that night, I decided to do the same. I didn’t right away of course,” he tells me, changing his tone a little. “I had to heal some to be able to give myself to another person. Someone who wasn’t you.” He scoffs at the memory. “But that night, I met Cass.” My heart deflates completely at the way he says her name. “She gave me her number. I didn’t call for months, somehow thinking I was cheating on the memory of you… but now here we are.”

 

I want to cry at the irony of it all. The fact that he came and I had no idea. That he met Cassie that night. Right across from my apartment, he was meeting the girl that is replacing me. And now she’s here in my hometown, with my friends, and my… well, he’s not mine anymore, is he?

 

“I wish you had come back to the apartment when you saw me,” I say. He laughs sardonically, his eyes glancing around, finally landing on mine. When he speaks his tone is laced with scorn.

 

“Why? So I could have an actual visual memory of you shacking up with some guy?” Peeta says as he turns to go back into the bakery, calling over his shoulder as he walks. “No thanks.” His words are like a dull knife, not slicing immediately, but forcing a painful pressure until it finally breaks through, causing a jagged, ugly gash.

 

“I didn’t sleep with him,” I defend myself as he nears the door. He has to know I didn’t do that, but however lame my excuse sounds to my own ears, I hope it can give Peeta some respite from the damage I’ve done, which is worse than I’d originally known. I only have to think about what it’s like to see him with Cassie to know that what I caused him was infinitely worse.

 

He turns, casually, and I catch a defensive air about him that is all new to me.

 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he says with cold eyes, disappearing back into the bakery.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, before I get accused of being a Katniss hater again… or a fake Everlarker… Peeta can’t just fall into Katniss’ arms when she says she’s sorry. She did some damage that she has to pay for first, and he’s pissed about it. It took some time in the books too after she pretended to like him. He was very upset, so I don’t think I’m completely off base here. As always, talk to me! Pbg


	4. You'd Like to Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to review! Reviews are payment for writing, and they keep me going, excited about the story and what surprises I can throw at you. :) The heartache isn't over, but hopefully this chapter will have us all on Katniss' side again if you were having a hard time with her actions. 
> 
> Also! I've been wondering why my numbers are so low... and I realized it's because I'm not on Tumblr anymore! Would someone be so kind as to link it on your dash if you like it? I would be forever grateful!

As the sun begins to peek through my open window, I squeeze my lids tighter to block it out, feeling angry at the world. Last night was rough. It took forever to get to sleep. I kept replaying Peeta’s and my conversation over and over, wishing I could go back in time and say things differently. I thought of a million things to tell him after the fact, but they’re no good to me now.

 

I throw the covers back and slide on my socks and a robe. I’m definitely going to need coffee today. I’ll probably consume an entire pot on my own just to stay awake, because as tired as I am, my mind will not shut off. No matter how hard I try, I can’t unsee that look in Peeta’s eyes - the way they reflect the disdain he has developed for me. And I can’t unfeel that sliver of hope I had when he told me he came for me.

 

A flash of anger springs to the surface as I wonder why he didn’t call first. He should have at least let me know he was coming. What person just shows up out of the blue from across the country? My anger deflates when I think that, had he called, I probably would have told him not to come. He had to have known that.

 

I start the coffee after creeping quietly downstairs, and fold my hands across the counter, laying my forehead on them as I wait for the decades-old coffee pot to brew the slowest cup of coffee ever.

 

“Hey.” I’m startled and whirl around to see Prim leaning into the doorway of the kitchen. She looks sleepy, but not weary like I feel.

 

“Hey.”

 

“You skipped out without saying goodbye last night. I was worried. Are you okay?” she quizzes me. I think for a minute, about whether I want to get into this conversation with my sister just days before her wedding. She doesn’t need my drama piled on top of her.

 

“Sure,” I say obscurely, shrugging my shoulders.

 

“Katniiiiiss,” she warns, dragging out the ‘i’ in my name the way my mother used to when she knew I wasn’t telling the whole truth.

 

“Fine. It was hard, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” My exasperated tone doesn’t seem to catch her off guard.

 

“No. I don’t want to hear that, but I think you should talk about it. You‘ve kept everything to yourself for so long, Katniss. It’s not healthy.” Even though she doesn’t say it, I know that she’s insinuating our mother.

 

“I’m not like her,” I snap. Doesn’t she see? That’s why I left. So I _wouldn’t_ turn into her. Before I can explain she responds, so quietly I almost miss it.

 

“I thought you weren’t like him, either.”

 

As the weight of what she is accusing me of hits, I have a loss for words. It’s like a sinkhole opened up and swallowed any potential thoughts I could string together. I open my mouth several times, and each time I can think of nothing. Did my baby sister, the one who I spent my teenage years taking care of, just liken me to our derelict father?

 

We stare at each other for a few moments, before my rage finds its way out. “I’m not like him!” I shout.

 

“Katniss,” she starts, her voice mild and peaceful so as not to cause my skittish nerves to explode. “I think you need to take a long, hard look at what happened. You were so scared of ending up like Mom, that you acted out like dad. What was the difference between what he did, and what you did?”

 

“Prim, you have no idea-”

 

“Then _tell_ me, Katniss. Talk to me! I’m your sister for Pete’s sake!” Prim is yelling now. Prim never yells. She’s always been so calm, so sweet, so… low-key and happy. “Do you think Peeta was the only one you left behind?” she adds, and I can see that same pain in her eyes that I saw in Peeta’s.

 

“Prim, you were eighteen when I left. You weren’t a child anymore,” I tell her, confused as to why she is having an issue with this.

 

“You’re right, Katniss. I was technically an adult. An adult with no father figure, and a half-sane mother who wasn’t a mother at all. My _mother_ ,” she stresses the word, looking poignantly at me, “the person who raised me, moved across the country. For no good reason that I know. I can piece together some things, most of them having to do with Peeta, but whenever I asked you about it you just fed me this BS about making your own way. I want to know what happened,” she demands. “Once and for all.”

 

Prim stares a hole through me, and I know this time she won’t let it go. I can’t avoid this any longer, so I take a deep breath and start where it all went south.

 

“Peeta asked me to marry him, Prim. And I freaked out.” The surprise in her eyes gives away the fact that Peeta never said anything to her, and I wonder if he kept it a secret from everyone?

 

“Okay, so….?” she says, prodding me on.

 

“Isn’t that enough? Do I need to explain it further?”

 

“Uh, _yeah,_ ” she pauses for effect, all wild-eyed and incredulous, and I have to say, the sarcasm I find in her tone is unbecoming on her and adds a layer to my defenses. “A guy - a great guy I might add - asks you to marry him and you leave town over it? Did you not love him or something? I just don’t get it.”

 

“Of course I loved him, Prim!” I shout, narrowing my eyes at her. “That’s why I had to go. Mom loved dad, and dad said he loved Mom, and then he left and she hasn’t ever recovered! I can’t go through that,” I say with finality, crossing my arms over my chest.

 

“You actually thought Peeta would do that to you?” she asks me. I don’t answer right away, allowing stillness to fall between us, because if I say yes, then I’m admitting to thinking the worst of someone I was supposed to love. And really, I know in my heart of hearts that Peeta wouldn’t have done that. But if I say no, then what motivation did I really have for leaving?

 

“I don’t know,” is my lame reply, as my arms fall to my sides and grip the counter behind me. “I guess... I guess it was more about me,” I whisper, really digging down deep for the reason that has been laying dormant in my thoughts for so long. I’ve never given it a voice. Never wanted to put into words what I feel, because no one could possibly understand.

 

“You?” Prim questions, her brow furrowed in confusion. I've never realized how small this kitchen is as the minutes pass, dripping with the torture of the unspoken.

 

“I wasn’t enough,” I finally admit out loud through a shaky breath. I slap my hands onto my face, stinging the skin there but I don’t care. I need to hide my shame. I’m ashamed that I wasn’t enough to keep my father from leaving. I’m ashamed that I must have done something to drive him away, even though I’ve wracked my brain for the longest time trying to think of what it could have been, coming up with nothing. It has evaded me for ten whole years, and it’s all my fault. Everything that happened to Peeta, my mother, my sister.

 

I feel Prim’s arms encircle me as she hugs me tight, and the contact unleashes the blubbering sobs. The kind of sobs that people refer to as an ‘ugly cry’.

 

“Katniss, you can’t blame yourself. Dad made his choice, and as sorry as I am that it wasn’t his own family, that will be his cross to bear. Not yours.” She rubs my back as I try to stop the unrelenting downpour, tucking her words away for a time that I can really think about them. Right now I’m just so embarrassed that my baby sister is having to comfort me. In the past it was always me comforting her when things were bad.

 

I pull away slightly, enough to grab a paper towel and dab the wetness from my skin. I give Prim a weak smile, letting her know I’m okay. We separate and she pours me a cup of coffee as we sit down at the kitchen table.

 

“Thanks, Prim,” I say, looking down into the steaming, black liquid.

 

“You can talk to me about anything, Katniss,” she says, and there is one question that hasn’t escaped my mind since the night before.

 

“Did you know?” I ask her, wadding the paper towel up in my hands for something to do while she stares at me.

 

“Know what?”

 

“That Peeta came to see me? In L.A.?” Her eyes display clear astonishment.

 

“I had no idea, Katniss! When?” she begs.

 

“Six months after I left apparently. I never knew. He told me last night that you gave him my address.” I’m trying not to accuse her. She seems as if she genuinely hadn’t known.

 

“Oh, Katniss,” she says, and I see her mentally piecing the puzzle together. “He asked for your address so he could write to you. Said you wouldn’t answer his calls and he had some things he needed to tell you. If I had thought at all that he was going to try to see you I would have warned you - you have to believe me!”

 

“I do, Prim. I do,” I say, patting her hand. “He, uh, said he saw me with someone. A, a guy. A-and he thought… he thought I had moved on.” I blink back fresh tears. “I think I still love him, Prim.” I couldn’t have stopped the words coming out if I tried. “And he’s, he’s with _her_. And she’s so, so… _nice_. Why couldn’t he have been with someone easier to hate?” I ask, and Prim looks at me with mischievous eyes.

 

“She’s not that nice, Katniss,” she tells me, whispering the information as if it were a secret. “She’s terribly vain, always in heels with manicured nails and a new designer purse every time she visits. And those perfect teeth? They’re veneers. She showed me a photo of the befores.” Prim makes a disgusted face, and I laugh out loud for the first time since before I arrived. “You are sooooo much better than her, Katniss. And your Prince Charming will come along and sweep you off of your feet one day.”

 

It’s this last thought that I keep with me as I shower and get ready for Prim, Mom and me to spend Christmas morning with Rory’s family. It’s not that I doubt there is a right man for me. It’s that I think he’s already come along, and I screwed it up.

 

 

Brunch at the Hawthorne’s is entertaining enough to keep my mind in the present, and in the room. Gale and I talk about what he’s been doing the last four years, about his job and how he gets to travel around the state, and that’s how he met his current girlfriend. He’s thinking it’s pretty serious, and I’m happy for him.

 

Mom sits on the couch. Gale’s little sister Posy is at her side, asking too many questions about that gargantuan scarf she insists is a table runner. I smile at how adamant she’s been that it’s a runner. By the length of it I wonder what feast she’s preparing it for and how many hundreds of people are expected to attend.

 

On the other side of the room, I watch how Prim and Rory interact as Gale and I talk. How they look at each other the same way our parents did. It scares me for her, but I don’t think Rory would do that to her any more than Peeta would have done it to me. I hope with everything in me that I’m right. I couldn’t bear to see Prim like Mom.

 

“So,” Gale says, pulling my attention back to him. “Peeta seemed a little perturbed when he came back into the bakery last night. Is everything okay between you two?”

 

I bite my nails in distraction, trying to think of a polite response since ‘it’s none of your damn business’ doesn’t seem like the right thing to say in his mother’s home on Christmas day. As much as I have dreaded anyone asking me about the situation between me and Peeta, I am increasingly curious to know what others may know, or what they think went on. I turn my shoulders to face Gale fully.

 

“Did you know he came to L.A.?” The blank stare in Gale’s face isn’t confirmation one way or the other. When he doesn’t offer a reply, I add, “he came to bring me back.”

 

“Whoa. That’s intense,” he says, allowing a look of disbelief to cross his features. “No, I had no idea. I’m not sure anyone did.” There’s a long pause between us. I don’t know what else to say. What I told him doesn’t answer his question, but it seems to have informed him of something.

 

“Come to think of it, he did go away for a week after you left. It wasn’t right after, though, more like months. Right after you left he was barely functioning as a human being.”

 

“How long has she been coming here?” The question slips out of me.

 

“Who? Cassie?” he asks, and I nod slightly, picking at a loose thread in the hem of my sweater because I don’t have the courage to look him in the eye. I’m not even sure I have enough courage to stay and listen to the answer.

 

“Well, I guess they’ve been seeing each other for two years. At least, she’s been coming around that long. She’s still in school, so she comes during holidays and he goes to her once or twice in the summer. Did you know she’s from L.A., too?”

 

“He uh, yeah, he met her the time he came to bring me back. He decided to move on before he had a chance to talk to me.” The clipped way I say the last few words, and the understanding nod Gale gives me tells me it’s time to change the subject.

 

We talk for the next hour about California, my job, my friends there. The fact that I’m not close with them like I was with the group here, and how much I miss it. Before the subject can lead back to Peeta, which it is getting dangerously close to doing, I excuse myself to find Prim. She’s in the kitchen with Rory and her soon to be mother-in-law.

 

“There you are,” I say, getting her attention. “I’m going to walk home.”

 

“Are you sure? You don’t want to stay longer?”

 

I shake my head. “No, I think I want to be alone for a while. Don’t worry,” I tell Prim when I see her brow knitting together with concern. “I’m fine, really.” Oddly, I’m better than I have been in a while. I’m just so emotionally drained, and with one sleepless night under my belt, I really want to take a nap. “You’re okay bringing Mom home?” I ask before slipping out. She says they’ll be fine, and to get some rest. Tonight is the night we always used to go one town over, where they have the most amazing display of holiday lights through two upper class sections of the city.

 

I’ll have to tell her later that I’m going to pass on that one. Last night was quite enough for me.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stopped here because the next scene is getting long, and I want to keep you all on the edge of your seat waiting for the next interaction between Katniss and Peeta. Don't expect a happy reunion any time soon. There is still lots of healing and communicating to do if I want to do this fic any justice. I do love to hear how you think it's going, so please comment, review, or PM me. Pbg


	5. To Go Over Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update yesterday, but I’ve got the head cold from Hades, so I stayed in bed all day forcing myself to watch Sleepy Hollow (the headless horseman scares the daylights out of me). I feel good enough today to at least sit up, but if you find some errors or a word or two missing, forgive me. My head is still swimming a bit. I hope you like this update and that it’s not lame. In all honesty, I’m nervous about it. I had one of the nicest compliments on this story - that it was realistic. I hope this chapter doesn’t tank that thought!

 

 

The sky is dark when I wake except for the moon, which hangs perfectly inside the four corners of my window frame. I roll over to the sound of a crunch, and the feel of something rough under my cheek. Lifting my head I can see that it’s paper - a note. From Prim.

 

_Katniss, you looked so peaceful sleeping that I couldn’t wake you, I hope you’re not mad that we went to see the lights without you. I’ll cover for you. ~ Primmy._

 

I mumble a grateful thank you into the shadows and stretch my tight muscles. The bed groans as I stand, and the floor creaks when I walk across it. They’re small things, but they take me back to the time when Peeta and I had to be quiet when I would sneak him into my room. A slight grin spreads across my lips at his lack of stealth mode. Even though we haven’t spent any time together, I’d be willing to bet he still can’t be quiet when he walks.

 

I allow myself to get lost for a moment in those familiar thoughts, then slap my hand against my forehead a few times in an effort shut my mind off to the memories of what we did in my bedroom during those nights. We may have been young and inexperienced, but there’s been no one who gets my blood rushing through my body like Peeta used to.

 

Treading downstairs, I see Mom is still knitting away on the ‘scarf’. I stand stock still in front of her as she works, barely noticing me, trying to think of a way to get her to start a new project. I don’t know how she can keep doing the same repetitive process over and over. It’s maddening to _me_ and I’ve only been here a little over twenty-four hours.

 

Suddenly, I think I have a great idea. “Hey, Momma,” I  try to keep my voice gentle as I speak, and I smile when she looks at me, a spark of recognition in her face. “Do you want to try painting?”

 

Peeta used to paint all the time. It was a relaxing hobby for him, and I’m willing to bet it will help my mother find something else she enjoys putting her hands to. In fact, I bet there are even some left over supplies in the back of my closet. We used to keep them in all of our ‘spots’ in case the urge to paint hit him. My heart saddens a bit at the happy memory when I recall that he mostly painted me. He always said that I was his inspiration.

 

“Sure, dear,” Mother answers, rather indecisively, but I just know this will make her happy. And I can even show her a few techniques Peeta taught me.

 

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her as I race up the stairs excitedly, finally feeling like I’m contributing to something with Mother, even though it seems so small. It’s a start, and something seems to come alive in me at the thought of sharing it with her.

 

Digging through the back of my closet, I come across a familiar clear tub of supplies. _This is it_ , I tell myself as I happily drag the box out and snap the lid off. Everything is just as I remember - three small canvases, paint brushes in various sizes that feel slightly stiff to the touch from use, a drop cloth to keep the floor clean, a paint pallette, and six bottles of paint - _three primary, three secondary_ , Peeta told me once. _You’ll never need to buy any other color. You can make the rainbow and every color in between just with these._

 

I take the box downstairs to the kitchen and begin to set everything up for Mom and me to start our new project. Before I have her stop what she’s doing and call her in, I fill a couple of glasses with water, snag the roll of paper towels, and try to open the bottles of paint. I frown when the lid for the red doesn’t budge. After trying for a few minutes, I decide to open the blue. It takes a bit of muscle, but I hear a cracking sound, and it begins to loosen. Upon removing the lid I can see that the paint has not fared too well over the four years. It’s separated and kind of gooey. The green is no better, but instead of gooey, it’s top is crackled, making me think the ease of getting its lid off meant that it hadn’t been properly sealed.

 

Setting the container down, I blow a few hairs out of my face. I really, really want to do this with my mother, but I have no paint. And it’s Christmas day, so the few stores in town that would carry them would be closed. I know where the other secret spots we used to store paint are, but both of them are places where Peeta could actually be - the bakery’s basement, and the closet in his bedroom.

 

The bakery will surely be closed, _but_ I do know where the spare key is kept. That’s a far easier sell for me than climbing in his bedroom window like I used to, or ringing his doorbell. I grab my coat and slide on my boots before I can talk myself out of it. I’ll replace the paints as soon as the stores open tomorrow, and Peeta will be none the wiser. If he won’t let me salvage what I can with him, then at least he would be okay with helping me mend my distant relationship with my own mother, right? I mean what harm can really be done?

 

“Mom, I’ll be right back!” I call to her as I walk down the narrow hallway to the front door.

 

It’s snowing again, and mixed with last night’s weather there’s at least eight inches on the ground now. Pulling my coat around me tighter, I pick up the pace down the street, covering the three blocks it takes to get to the bakery in quicker time than I thought I would. It must be adrenaline. I can feel it coursing through my body, pounding in my ears. My heart is racing. What if he’s there? I shake my head at the ridiculous thought. No one in this town works on Christmas Day.

 

I’m relieved when I see all the bakery lights are dark, and I have to trudge through a two-foot snow drift to get to the back door. Picking up the small stone hide-a-key and twisting it open, I grin to myself. I bet everyone in this town knows where this key is. They’ve used it for so long that it’s not much of a hiding place anymore.

 

As soon as I’m inside I have to fight back more memories. The smells, the sights, and just the feel of the place sends me reeling back in time.

 

I lightly stamp my feet on the mat by the back door. I don’t want to spend too much time in here taking my boots on and off, but I also don’t want to leave a trail of melted snow on the floor. Once I’m satisfied, I walk quickly into the kitchen and make my way to the stairs that lead down into the basement, carefully opening the old door that creaks and groans no matter how gentle you try to be with it.

 

I’m thankful that my tread is light as a feather as I flick the light switch and glide down the steps, barely making a sound. Once at the bottom, I glance around the place. Fifty pound bags of flour, twenty pound bags of sugar, bottles of maple syrup all lined up in neat rows, and enough yeast to raise the entire bakery into the heavens.

 

My feet carry me to the section of syrups, shelved along a back wall. I scan the bottom shelf, squinting in the poorly lit room, my eyes landing on the plastic box, just like the one I have in my closet. Bingo.

 

The layer of dust on top suggests Peeta hasn’t used it in a while, so I bet he won’t miss it. When I grab for it, a split second too late I recognize it’s being used as a bookend, and before I can stop it, the books topple over and onto the floor in a noisy heap, sending dust clouds up into the air.

 

I stand rooted to the spot when I realize they’re not books, but canvases. Used canvases. With my likeness on them. The only thing that breaks me out of the stupor I’m in is a sneezing fit from all the dust, and when it’s over, I can finally hear the groan of the stairs as a female voice calls out into the dimness.

 

“Peeta?” she asks, and I can tell by the waver in her speech she’s a little nervous. My heart has jumped into my throat, making it impossible to speak. What is _she_ doing here? The bakery is supposed to be closed and why would she be looking for Peeta anyway? Shouldn’t she be with him?

 

I look down at the mess, and know there’s no way I can get out of this. _Dammit_. This is not going to be pretty. Peeta will surely find out, and in our current situation, he’ll be pissed as hell. I turn around slowly, plastering the most innocent smile on my face that I can manage, and say hello.

 

“Cassie! Hi!” Too cheerful. I might as well be wearing a bright orange jumpsuit I sound so guilty.

 

“Katniss? What are you doing here?” I can tell by her tone the question isn’t friendly, and I know I’m treading on thin ice here.

 

“Actually... this sounds so silly,” I try to sound casual even though my heart is thudding so loud in my ears I can barely hear my own voice. “I came to get paint.”

 

“Paint?” she asks, unphased and making her way in my direction.

 

“Yeah, my, uh, mother needs a new hobby and I thought...,” I pause as I try to remember what the hell it was I was thinking. It’s apparent to me now the thoughts were extremely misguided.

 

“Why would you come to a bakery for paint?” Cassie questions, in clear disbelief.

 

“Peeta always kept paint around in case he got the urge to, you know,” I shrug my shoulders as though it’s completely natural for anyone to keep paint supplies around, “paint.”

 

“Peeta doesn’t paint,” she states, as though she’s an expert on the matter. I cock my head to the side in confusion.

 

“Ooooo-kay,” I draw out, not wanting to get in an argument over it. I have no idea why Cassie doesn’t know this, but with the way she’s scrutinizing me right now, I don’t think I want to be the one to break it to her.

 

“I’ll just be on my way then,” I say, wanting to get as far away from her as I can, but before I can take a step towards the exit, my mind screams at me about the paintings laying scattered on the floor. She’s notices them before I can react.

 

“What are these?”  Cassie asks, bending down to pick one up. I can see her eyes widen and then narrow as she scans the canvas. “This is you?” It’s a question, but one I can tell she already knows the answer to.

 

I reach out to tilt the painting towards me, pretending to be somewhat surprised.

 

“Oh, yeah, that looks like me. Although, he was always too generous with my features.” As soon as I say it I want to slap my forehead. I had meant it to be a slight towards myself, but I can tell Cassie took it differently.

 

“He?” she asks. I nod my head, not sure how to answer. I keep talking in an effort to smooth over the many bumps this situation has me navigating.

 

“We were friends for years. Really, he painted all of us.” As if sensing my lie, Cassie bends down to inspect all of the paintings. I stand there quietly, my stomach pitching like a busted elevator as she turns each one over. They’re all me. A dozen canvases of Katniss Everdeen.

 

“Peeta doesn’t paint,” she echoes quietly, and I feel as though the words weren’t meant for me.

 

My heart skips at least three beats when I see one of my shoulders bare and head resting on a pillow. It’s unfinished, but you can tell the painter has seen, or at least pictured, his subject naked. I bend down swiftly in panic and snatch it away from her without thinking. It’s too private and I don’t want someone else’s eyes on this.

 

She glares at me as she stands, and I notice for the first time that she’s a good four inches taller than me. “Friends, huh?”

 

I guess I was right. Peeta hasn’t told her about me - about _us_ \- and the urge to get everything out is just too overwhelming. I shouldn’t have to defend myself or my past to Cassie. And it may not be my place to tell, but she’s here and I can’t keep lying. For myself or for Peeta. At least I can put her mind at ease, convince her that there’s nothing there anymore.

 

“Yeah, okay? We were a thing. It was a long time ago, Cassie. Nothing for you to worry about. Peeta seems to really... like you,” I say, choosing my words carefully because I can’t bring myself to say he loves her.

 

“I knew there was something about you,” she laughs, and not a friendly one. It sends a shiver down my spine. “When I met you last night I could see remorse on you, and then when Peeta chased after you,” she stops, the disapproval in her features evident. I’m quickly learning this situation is unsalvageable. “He told me there was nothing. Not to worry about it, just like you’re telling me now.”

 

“There isn’t,” I defend, my temper rising a little. And then I remember that she’s not supposed to be here, and before she can accuse me again, I ask, “Why are you here, anyway? The bakery is closed and you’re supposed to be with Peeta seeing the Christmas lights.”

 

“I had a migraine,” she tells me, looking down at her shoes. She’s just as bad a liar as me. I can spot the signs a mile away. But it’s not my business. “And Peeta lives upstairs. It’s where I stay when I come to visit.”

 

“ _Oh_.” I can feel the blood drain from my face as I realize that I just broke into Peeta’s home. That had he been here I could have walked in on him… and _her._ That is one sight that surely would haunt my mind, and I shudder involuntarily at the thought. I had no idea he’d moved in. His parents must have finally let him remodel the upstairs like he always wanted to. At the very least, the fact that I didn’t know this information should tell her that Peeta and I haven’t had contact in a while.

 

“See? I didn’t even know that. I told you, you have nothing to worry about.” The next words are the most difficult to say, but I need to reassure her. Maybe it’s a step in the right direction, an olive branch of my own towards Peeta.

 

“Peeta and I have been over for a while. He’s moved on.” It’s sorrowfully bitter in my mouth, and I can’t even deny the jealousy I feel for the girl standing in front of me, but I made my choice and now I have to live with it.

 

“But what about you?” she asks, and I furrow my brow. “You said _he_ has moved on.” Huh. Well isn’t she perceptive? I didn’t even recognize what I’d said until she pointed it out.

 

“Look, it’s over between me and Peeta,” I say with finality. While Cassie stands there, her glare less accusing, but still not forgiving, I quickly pick up the paintings and assemble them back on the shelf, grabbing a heavy bottle of syrup to replace the ‘bookend’ I’m borrowing.

 

The silence is smothering and I cannot wait to get back home. I whirl around with the box hugged tight to my chest, not bothering to say goodbye as I bound up the steps. We’ve said all we need to say, and I think it’s pretty safe to assume we’ll never be friends.

 

“He’s never painted me,” she calls to me before I can reach the door. I stop, turning my eyes towards her, and give her a weak smile. As I tap my fingers on the banister, I’m at a loss for how to respond. So I don’t. I just leave, running all the way home, my hot breath streaming behind me as my lungs try to keep up with the effort it takes to race through the snow. I don’t know why he never painted her, or why she doesn’t know about his favorite hobby. But it’s not my place to get in the middle of what’s happening between them any more than I already have, and as I run, a sick feeling gives way deep down in my gut that warns me I’m going to pay for it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Did I trick you by making you think she was going to run into Peeta? Originally that was the plan, but I thought this might be more fun. Are you wondering why Cassie was there and why Katniss thinks she’s lying? Have I made you nervous with that last sentence? Talk to me. :) Pbg


	6. They Say Time's Supposed to Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a guest comment yesterday that said they thought I gave Katniss the upper hand and they didn’t like it. It was vague whether the reviewer was speaking about the chapter entirely, or just that one part. Anyway, in my thoughts, just because Katniss knows Peeta may still harbor some feelings for her doesn’t mean she has any kind of upper hand. In fact, because of what she did it will be much harder for him to forgive her. My plan for Peeta’s reaction is decidedly NOT to run back to Katniss. If they end up together it will be because they’ve both done some soul searching and healing. Alone. There is still much more angst to go before Everlark can find their way back to each other. 
> 
> I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I have a buttload going on today and since I was sick it all needs to get done, but I wanted to post something. The chapter after this is literally the reason I even wanted to take this on, and I promise it won’t be too delayed. Sorry for mistakes!

 

It’s close to midnight before Prim comes home. I know because I haven’t been able to get to sleep. I tried closing my eyes and rolling over into all my favorite sleeping positions, counting sheep, drinking a glass of wine. At one point I even did 300 jumping jacks to tire myself out, hoping that would help me.

 

When I returned home earlier, I couldn’t even open the box I’d brought back I was so shaken by my encounter with Cassie, so I put it in my closet along with the other one. I should have just thrown it all away, since it was obvious no one would be using it anymore. They’re just stupid paint supplies, but I couldn’t do it. So I hid them again.

 

There is a soft knock at my door, and my heart skips a beat. I know it’s only Prim, but I wonder, at this very moment, if Peeta has talked to Cassie. I cringe at what I’m sure the subject of their conversation would be about.

 

“Katniss?” Prim whispers. “Are you up?”

 

“Yeah, Prim,” I say, sitting up in the bed. I pat the covers next to me and she comes to sit down. “How was it?”

 

“It was good. Cassie wasn’t there. I wish you had come. It would have been like old times,” she says wistfully.

 

“Peeta was there?” I already know the answer, but I’m not sure I want to tell Prim exactly how I know, so I play dumb for now. Surely Prim would scold me and tell me how stupid my actions were, and I really hope that information can stay between me, Peeta, and Cassie.

 

“Yeah. Cassie wasn’t feeling well, but Peeta didn’t look too hot, either. He seemed upset. Maybe you could have cheered him up,” she says brightly.

 

“Right,” I scoff, rolling my eyes even though she probably can’t see it in the dark. “Nothing about me cheers Peeta up at this point. I think it would take a Christmas miracle to fix anything between us now.”

 

“Maybe,” Prim agrees. “You should at least get a chance to apologize and make things civil.”

 

I breath deeply, wishing I could have that chance. Although, now I’d be apologizing for so much more. If I had any thought Peeta would be able to forgive what I did years ago, it went out the window with tonight’s little fiasco.

 

“We all suffered when you left, you know?” Prim continues as I listen. “Our group isn’t the same without you. If Peeta’s around, which was rare the first year after you left, we try not to talk about the past or bring up old memories. It’s hard, though. We all had some fun times, and I think you guys breaking up kind of broke us all in a way.” A sad laugh escapes her lips. “It’s like that puzzle that’s your favorite, but you have that one piece missing. And you haven’t been able to find it forever, but you can’t bring yourself to throw the puzzle in the trash because _maybe,_ just maybe... you’ll run across it one day.”

 

“That’s a lot to hope for Prim.”

 

“I think you guys reuniting and having what you had years ago is a lot to hope for - impossible even. But maybe having a mended friendship is more achievable than you think.” She gives me a quick hug and wishes me sweet dreams. I appreciate her support, but I’m quite sure she wouldn’t feel so optimistic if she knew the whole truth.

  

* * *

 

I don’t wake until almost ten the next morning. I never stay in bed this late, but I couldn’t get to sleep until almost three a.m.

 

By the time I get downstairs Prim has already made breakfast for mom and herself, cleaned it up and left to meet Rory for some last minute decisions for the wedding. She told me last night she wouldn't be back until late again, and I miss her already. I haven't spent as much time with her as I would have liked, but given all the circumstances, I can't be too picky. Besides, I still have a week of vacation left and as much as I find myself wanting to flee certain situations, I'm staying put. For Prim.

 

My stomach rumbles when I uncover a plate of pillsbury cinnamon rolls she set aside for me. I grab one and stuff it in my mouth, too starved to wait, while I put the other three in the microwave. And, because i’m too lazy to make a fresh pot of coffee, a mug full of the black liquid goes into the microwave as soon as the rolls are warmed.

 

After I eat the entire plate of bread, licking it clean of icing, I am pleased to find my mother watching The Price Is Right this morning, although her knitting needle and that heinous scarf aren’t too far away. I’m sure she’ll pick it up soon and begin to add a few more feet to it. I never got to introduce her to painting last night, but after last night’s debacle, I don’t know if I can share painting with anyone else. Even my own mother.

 

I sit down on the couch and watch TV with Mom, smiling when she gets excited about the guy who won a car, and trying to stifle a giggle when she groans about the lady who bid too high on her showcase.

 

“She’s going to lose,” Mom says. It’s the most normal things have been since being back home, and I feel my body relaxing into the worn cushions of the couch. That is, until a knock at the front door tenses every muscle in my neck, back and arms.

 

I got so lost in the normality of this morning I completely forgot that I might be facing the consequences of my actions from last night. I look to my mother - for what I’m not all that sure. Did I think she was going to rescue me? Answer the door and tell Peeta I’m not here?

 

It may not even be Peeta. There’s no guarantee he’ll come. It could be any number of people, I tell myself as I gather the courage to walk down the hallway to the front of the house. As soon as I lay eyes on the distorted window, through which I can see a stocky build that resembles Peeta, and make out the light hair color which I know to be his, my stomach plummets.

 

The doorbell rings a second time, then a third as I stand far enough down the hall so he can’t tell someone is home.

 

“Coming!” my mother yells from behind me as she passes me and makes her way towards the door.

 

“Mom!” I whisper loudly, trying to reach out and stop her, but she’s too quick, or I’m too frozen - I can’t tell. I jump back into the kitchen as Mom swings the door open.

 

“Rye!” she greets him, and I can feel the moment my heart begins to beat again. “What a pleasant surprise. Come in.”

 

“Hey, Mrs. E. Is Katniss around?” At the sound of Rye’s voice and the door closing behind him, I step back into the hallway.

 

“Rye, hey,” I say, my nerves still on edge. Mom disappears back to the living room without a clue as to what I’m feeling, leaving Rye and me alone. It’s not her fault. But I wish I could talk to her.

 

“Hey, Catnip,” Rye teases me with a smile. He knows I hate the pet name that Gale coined for me when we were kids, but it helps lighten my mood a little. I punch him in the arm as he passes me on his way into the kitchen.

 

“Ow!” he says, grabbing his shoulder and rubbing it. “Did the big city get you hooked on ‘roids or something?”

 

“Funny,” I say, my face straight as an arrow. I’m pretty sure Rye isn’t here for a social call, and I hope whatever has brought him to my door has nothing to do with Peeta. “What’s up?”

 

“Well, I uh, honestly?” he starts, looking at me questioningly until I give him a nod to continue. “I came to warn you.” My stomach sinks faster than the Titanic, making me wish I were on it, falling into the murky depths of the ocean where no one could reach me. Death might be a blissful respite from what I’ve been feeling since I got back.

 

“What about?” It’s not hard to tell, but I don’t want to give away anything until I know what Rye knows.

 

“Well, Peeta’s on his way back from Baltimore.” He stops, staring at me as if I should understand everything with that one statement. I don’t know why Peeta took a trip to the city. Maybe he wanted to take Cassie shopping, or eat at one of the many famous restaurants at the wharf.

 

“And? Why are his travel plans any of my concern?”

 

“Oh, they’re definitely of your concern, Katniss,” he says, with an edge to his voice that makes me think I’m about to go to the principal’s office. “Peeta took Cassie to the airport. Apparently you told Gale he came out to L.A. to bring you back. So Gale asked him about it, and Cassie overheard, and realized he was there to see you when he met her. They had a big fight about it, and that’s why she didn’t go with us last night.”

 

“So?” That still doesn’t make sense to me. It was so long ago, and who cares if he met her on a trip to see me? “Why would she care about something that happened forever ago? I mean, it’s not like we’ve talked or had any communication the last four years.”

 

“Cassie’s been trying to get Peeta to commit. They’ve been seeing each other for two years now and she’s about to graduate, and from what Peeta tells me, her future plans involve him. I guess now she thinks she knows why he’s dragging his feet.” I lower my eyes to the floor, silently begging him not to say what I think he’s about to.

 

“She thinks he’s still hung up on you.” His confession punches me square in the face, and it’s a bittersweet pain. On the one hand, it’s what I realize I’ve been wanting to hear since I’ve been back, even though I know I don’t deserve it. But on the other hand, things are so messed up between us that even if Cassie weren’t in the picture I’m not sure it could be sorted out. I can’t help but think it would be easier if he weren’t hung up on me.

 

“Did you know Peeta came? I mean, before Gale blabbed it?” I silently curse the small town gossip chain we all grew up in. Gale and I will have words later.

 

“Peeta’s my brother, Katniss. I know everything,” Rye says confidently, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest. So confidently that it makes me wonder if he knows about last night.

 

“I don’t think you do,” I add, testing his reaction.

 

“Indulge me,” he says.

 

“I let myself into the bakery last night.” I can tell by the way his eyes bug out that this is news to him.

 

“You what?”

 

I take a deep breath and let everything out, waving my arms as I pace around the small kitchen. “I wanted paint, to show mom a new hobby, but my paints were old so I went to get some from the basement in the bakery. I knew Peeta kept them there.” Rye let’s his head fall back in what I can only imagine is exasperation. “I didn’t know, Rye! I had no idea that Peeta lives there now, or that she would be there.”

 

“Jesus, Katniss-”

 

“There’s more,” I interrupt him before I can chicken out, wanting someone to know the full extent of what I will be facing. If I die today, I need someone to know why. “While I was looking for the paints, I um, I knocked over some of the canvases that Peeta had put away. They were all of me. That’s when she found me.”

 

“Is that _all_?” he asks, and I don’t blame him for the bewilderment in his tone. It sounds even worse when I say it out loud, but I wrack my brain trying to think of anything else that passed between us last night.

 

“Um, well, I told her that Peeta and I used to be a thing, but it sounds like she kind of already heard that bit of info from Gale.”

 

“Wow. I mean... _wow_ ,” he repeats himself, unable to believe the news. “No wonder Peeta was pissed when he asked me to cover for him this morning. I thought he was being a little overdramatic and that he and Cass would smooth everything over, but… he didn’t tell me that part.”

 

“Do you think…?” I almost don’t dare to ask it out loud, but could it be a possibility? “Do you think he doesn’t know? That maybe Cassie _didn’t_ tell him?”

 

“I think you better be ready for him to know. If he doesn’t, and I wouldn’t put too much stock in that, you need to tell him anyway. It’s the right thing to do, Katniss. Look,” he says, his appearance turning even more serious. “You’re like a sister to me. But Peeta’s my flesh and blood. I hate seeing him hurt. So please, Katniss, don’t hurt him anymore. Do whatever you have to do to fix this situation.”

 

* * *

 

I consider Rye’s words for the rest of the day, as my stomach turns itself into the strongest chain of knots anyone could imagine. One after one, they build upon each other as I think about each place that I’ve been wrong, and each thing I can’t even begin to hope to fix. I’m grateful for Rye’s warning, and I am endeared to him all the more for sticking up for his brother, but I almost wish I didn’t know it was coming. It’s torture - waiting for the doorbell to sound or the phone to ring, and each minute that ticks by unaccounted for is even worse. What am I supposed to say or do that won’t hurt him? It all seems to inflict pain on us both. Even an apology rips a wound open before it can be healed.

 

I decide that I can’t sit in this house anymore. The staleness is suffocating. I need to get out, breathe fresh air into my lungs no matter how cold and dark it has become. Maybe I’ll go hunt Gale down and ask him why the hell he felt the need to ask Peeta about his trip to L.A. Maybe I’ll be able to take some of this frustration out on him.

 

I put on my gloves, coat, and beanie, and as I walk outside I almost wish I had my mother’s ridiculously long table runner to wrap around my entire body it’s so cold. I’m about to step off the porch when a noise from my left startles me. I jump, and turn to face it, seeing the moonlight bounce off the same blond hair that Rye has, and the familiar outline of his stocky build sitting on our porch swing. But I know that it’s not Rye, even in the darkness. And though he doesn’t make eye contact with me as he speaks, what he says to me, and the hurt I hear in his voice, shreds my heart.

 

“How many times are you going to ruin my life, Katniss?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter helped explain the little web I’ve woven here. I’m nervous again, because I’m trying to foresee all the holes you guys may point out, but I don’t want to make it seem like I’m wrapping it all up in one chapter. It all makes sense in my mind, but one of my weaknesses in story telling is connecting all the dots. It’s all practice for me! The ‘talk’ is coming next. Raw feelings and emotions are on deck!
> 
> So… I want to take a poll. I know how I want the story to end, but I want to hear from you all - do you want Everlark together? Or have I created a scenario too broken to fix? Is Everlark to be or not to be? Lmk. :) Pbg


	7. I Ain't Done Much Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was terrified of this chapter. Honest. I’ve had so many PM’s and reviews/comments with high hopes for great angst and a slow grow together that I was scared I would ruin it! Still am! Sorry I made you wait, and I hope you all are still here with me! Thank you to Burkygirl, who gave me a few suggestions for this one, and helped quell my fears. :) I am changing the chapter titles so that if you were to list them in order, it would be the song lyrics. They really won’t allude exactly to what’s going on in the chapter, but it all feels to me like it works. 
> 
> When we left off at chapter 6, Peeta had just shown up and asked Katniss how many times she was going to ruin his life. Enjoy. :)

 

 

Peeta’s few words are harsh. Harsher than I’ve ever heard from him, or the him I used to know anyway. They stun me speechless for a moment while a long-dormant ember of fire inside me is stoked with all the reasons why I left. They flip through my mind like an animated picture book; the fun and love in my childhood years when my father would take me hiking in the woods surrounding our tiny town, or when my mother would try to teach me how to cook when all I wanted to do was play hide and seek with Peeta. Prim on her short, skinny legs as a toddler, always waddling about like a little duck. Our family of four jumping in the lake in the dead heat of summer, and having a picnic on the shore after swimming and splashing so much our bellies roared with hunger.

 

The happiness of it all is glazed over by the betrayal of my father, like a memory that’s fuzzy and not quite real, and I remember in the days following how difficult life was. My mother cried for days in her bedroom. I would take her water, cheese and crackers to get her to eat. I even tried to make the vegetable soup she once showed me how to prepare. She never touched any of it. I checked on her almost hourly, desperately wanting my mother back. Each night I went to bed empty, desperate. And each morning I awoke with a shred of hope renewed; that maybe that day was the day it would all be turned around.

 

Then, days turned into weeks and I found myself silently begging her just to get out of bed. If she could do that, I thought, there might have be a chance for Prim and I, and even our mother, to have a normal life, even if my father chose not to be part of it.

 

I finally decided to drag her out of the bed just so I could wash and change her sheets, the stench of her room was so bad Prim wouldn’t even go in. I think she had become scared of her by that point. After my mother’s tears dried, probably more from dehydration than a scabbed over heart, she just stared at the ceiling.

 

She didn’t fight me when I pulled her bony body into a chair in the corner of her room. She didn’t respond when I begged her to help me take care of Prim, to go grocery shopping, that we were completely out of the regular staples she kept around the house, and the cans of beans and tomatoes in the back of the cabinet were dwindling quickly with two growing girls. She didn’t seem to care when tears ran down my cheeks in streams, or when my voice rose in frustration until it became raspy, then hoarse and finally, absent altogether. I had to write notes to Prim for two days after that just to communicate with her.

 

I know I have a lot of explaining to do, I just hope Peeta will hear me out, and maybe some of the judgement I see in his eyes will soften.

 

“Look, Peeta, I know it was wrong-”

 

“Then why did you do it?” Peeta barks at me before I can launch into an apologetic explanation. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression is a mixture of  curiosity and anger, the movement of his hands punctuating every other word. “I don’t get how you know something is wrong, but you do it anyway.”

 

My temper is on the rise, and the fact that Peeta just cut me off isn’t helping. I wrap my arms around myself to ground me as much as to keep out the shiver from the frosty night air. Snow has been forecasted again.

 

“I wanted paint for my mother. I thought-”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” he tells me, interrupting me again. It’s starting to get on my nerves that he won’t listen, and the frustration rising in my chest is becoming much harder to quell. I squeeze myself even tighter, looking him square in the eyes.

 

“What exactly are you talking about then? So I can be sure to give you the answer you want.” My remark is a bit snide, but I’m doing all I can to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

 

“Why did you tell Cassie about us? Why did you tell her I painted? Why were you going through _my_ things?” His voice is firm and clear, rising with each question he asks, right along with my temper. He doesn’t move, but his furious gaze brings on

 

“Why did _I_ tell Cassie?” I ask, letting my meaning sink in before asking him why he didn’t. This seems to really piss him off and he’s out of the swing in no time, leaving it creaking and wobbling on its restrictive chain as he crosses half the porch in two strides.

 

“That’s none of your concern,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

“And your love life isn’t my problem. At least someone was honest with her.” I can see by the shock on his face that my words have affected him. But quickly his eyes turn to resentful slits.

 

“So you choose now to start being honest with people?” he digs at me, turning his eyes to the barren street. When he turns back to me, he laughs bitterly, and it makes me feel small. I’m not sure I have what it takes to fight this argument. “And you couldn’t even do it with me. It had to be with my girlfriend.”

 

“What is it, Peeta?” I yell at him, throwing my arms wide and inviting him to just get it over with. I point my finger at him, just inches from his chest. “Let’s talk about what’s really pissing you off. And I know it’s not her.” I want to skip all this angry foreplay and get right to the main event.

 

He takes a few steps back and swipes at his chin, looking down at the splintered wooden planks that make up the front porch, clearly debating how or what he wants to say, or maybe _if_ he wants to say anything at all.

 

“I want to know,” he demands in steady voice, raising his eyes to mine. For a second I recognize the tenderness that is inherently Peeta in them, but the hostility clouds over it when he speaks again. “Why’d you leave?”

 

It’s the question I’ve dreaded every day since I told him no, that I wouldn’t marry him, and instead of guilty, I find myself angry. We had a good thing, and it got ruined, and all I can do is answer him with a question of my own.

 

“Why did you ask?”

 

Peeta’s face morphs into cynical confusion as I realize he doesn’t understand.

 

“Are we going to have this conversation in riddles?” he demands as his hands fly into his hair, pulling at the roots and then drop back down to his sides again, and any calm demeanor that had settled between us is gone as his voice rises in anger and judgement again. “I want to know why you left. Why wasn’t I good enough for you?” He folds his arms across his chest, and my eyes are briefly drawn to the biceps now bulging through his waffle tee as he waits for me to respond.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, raising my hands in semi-surrender to keep us from escalating into a full-on fight for all the neighbors to hear. I’m not sure how it would go since Peeta and I rarely ever fought. This is our first real confrontation.

 

“Well then spell it out for me, Sweetheart, so I can understand fully what horrible thing I did to cause you to run off to the other side of the country.”

 

“You asked me to marry you,” I say through clenched teeth as my temper simmers just short of boiling point. I am dangerously close to losing the composure I’ve tried so hard to keep. The amused breath that escapes his lips turns the heat up a notch.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocks, placing a hand on his chest in an extremely artificial gesture of sincerity. “I didn’t realize it wasn’t appropriate to ask the girl I love- lov _ed_ -,” he corrects, enunciating the past tense and shaking his head as if to clear it, “and who I thought loved me back, to be my wife!” The end of his sentence gets louder with every word, and the juvenile way he is acting tells me there won’t be any reasoning with him tonight. Or maybe ever.

 

“Please. Forgive me, Katniss,” he says derisively as he turns to leave, waving his hand in the air dismissively. It takes me a moment to sift through what was just exchanged between us, and without thinking I turn to follow him out onto the walkway, my mood finally hitting the boiling point.

 

“You knew!” I yell, spinning him around to face me. He yanks his arm out of my reach and stares daggers at me. To anyone else it probably looks like we’re about to engage in an epic boxing match, Peeta with his chest bowed out and me leaning into him with my finger.

 

“You knew I didn’t want to get married! But you had to go and ask anyway. You _knew_ what my father did to us, and how scared I was, but you didn’t care.” I’m still yelling at him, and our bodies are growing closer together, both of us toe to toe in defense of our actions. “I’m not so sure it was _me_ who ruined _your_ life, Peeta.”

 

“Are you - are you saying I ruined yours?” he says with mocking disbelief.

 

“No. That’s not what I’m saying,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I know who’s responsible for that now - my father. But you,” I put my hand on his chest, pressing on him as he inches even closer to me, ready to retaliate. His chest feels solid under my palm and his breath is warm in my face. Our noses are almost touching. But I won’t cower to his judgements anymore. I’m not fully to blame. “ _You_ wanted to push the matter.”

 

“Push the matter?” I smell mint on his breath and I can feel the tension radiating in waves off his upper body. “You think I tried to push marriage on you? Tell me, Katniss, what was the next logical step for two people in love who had known each other their whole lives?”

 

“I don’t know, more time?” I yell back in his face, trying not to let the surprise I feel at my words flash across my face. Is that what I needed? Would I have said yes eventually?

 

“More _time_?” he echoes.

 

“Peeta, we were only twenty-two!”

 

“Katniss, I’ve known you my whole life! I didn’t need more time!” Peeta answers, matching the intensity of my tone.

 

“What about what I needed, Peeta? I wasn’t ready!””

 

“So, what, now you’re saying you would’ve said yes eventually?” he asks skeptically, throwing his hands in the air as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. In all honesty, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

 

I balk at this and silence falls between us like the little flakes of snow that have started to float around us like powdered sugar through a sifter. In spite of the cold I feel incredibly heated, and I’m breathing harder now. Smoky clouds of warm breath are mingling between us as they rise, and I notice Peeta is breathing hard, too.

 

“You’re changing your entire story, Katniss.” Peeta places his hands on his hips as he levels me with a doubtful glare.

 

“Are you calling me a liar, Peeta?” I feel myself becoming defensive at his implication, and I mirror his defensive stance.

 

“I’m not calling you anything, Katniss,” he says, shifting his weight. “I’m just telling you what I’m hearing. First you say you didn’t want marriage. Then you say you would have eventually said yes.” Peeta scrubs his face with his gloved hand, then his words turn cynical again. “That would have been good information to have four years ago. _Before_ you left.” His arms cross over his chest again. One moment he’s on offense, the very next he’s back to defense. He’s jumping around so much I can’t pick a side. I feel like I’m constantly defending every choice I made, and the ones I try to apologize for are falling on deaf ears.

 

“Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted!” I’m tiring quickly of the fighting. Now I see why temperamental marriages don’t last. I throw my hands up in frustration and shake my head. “I can’t do this anymore.” I turn to go back inside, feeling more defeated than I ever have, but Peeta seems to want to keep at it, telling me to go ahead and do what I always do - run away. This gets my attention, and all I can see is red as I freeze and turn slowly to face him. I can barely see him my eyelids are so close together.

 

“All I do is run away?” I am fuming at the implication that I’m a coward. Peeta nods in confirmation. “I ran away _one_ time, Peeta. ONCE!” I scream, unable to hold back any longer. I walk slowly toward him, not trusting my rage, hoping that everything inside me will come out before I’m within arm’s length. “My father left us with NOTHING. My mother couldn’t get out of bed for WEEKS! I, alone, was responsible for taking care of Prim, _and_ making sure my mother didn’t take her own life through her complete and utter indifference to it. One time I got scared, Peeta,” I admit, trying to keep my actions in check now that I’ve been able to say what’s been bottled up for so long. Most people in this town don’t know the extent of suffering the Everdeen women went through after my father, our rock and the center of our whole universe, left us. “That mistake doesn’t define me.”

 

When my rage is settled and I can finally see past myself again, I notice Peeta looks astonished, and hurt.

 

“You know,” he begins solemnly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Somehow that makes it worse.”

 

I shoot him an incredulous look. “How exactly? How is this coming back to be about you? I’m sorry, Peeta! I’m sorry!” I say, my tone dripping with his earlier sarcasm. “Please, let me kiss your feet and tell you how absolutely wrong I was to be hurt by my father and have to grow up so soon.” It’s my turn to mock and be insincere.

 

“You didn’t trust me.” The way he says it, like it’s fact, as though he always knew I didn’t trust him, pulls the cord of frustration once more.

 

“What?” I snap at him.

 

“You never told me any of that. I knew your father left, but the rest,” he shakes his head, “you didn’t say a word. If I had known-”

 

“We were sixteen! What could you have done to help us, Peeta?”

 

“I would have done anything for you, Katniss!” he yells, flinging one arm from his pocket into the air beside him. His eyes are wild and full of the regret I feel so acutely when I lay in bed at night.

 

“Prim was ten!” I yell back. “If anyone found out that my mother couldn’t take care of us, they would have called child services and taken us away. Put us in homes, Peeta! What if they had split us up? What if Prim had gone to a home where I couldn’t watch over her? With a bad family?” I shake my head vigorously. “No, Peeta. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.” I stand by my decision to protect Prim. I’m not going to let anyone make me feel guilty for that.

 

Silence falls once again, heavy and troublesome, neither of us knowing what to say now. I can’t take my eyes off my feet, and now that it seems to mostly be over, I’m beginning to cool and shiver in the frigid temperature.

 

“You should go inside,” Peeta says with finality. There is no promise to talk later, no more apologies or accusations. It seems we’ve said all we can say. I, for one, know I’ll be meditating on this conversation for weeks to come, maybe even months, trying to figure out what I could have said differently, wishing I could go back in time and communicate better.

 

As Peeta turns to leave, one question that’s been burning in the back of my mind escapes without thought, “Why didn’t you paint her?”

 

Without missing a beat or pausing his stride, he calls over his shoulder words I will remember long after this moment. “I guess I lost my inspiration.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took ten days to get out! Or twelve… oops! My first week back to work was cray-cray. I hope it was worth the wait. Actually some of the wait was spent fretting over getting it perfect, since I’m pretty sure expectations are running high. I can promise weekly updates now. Sorry I spoiled with the dailies, but it’s just not possible until another work holiday comes up. I have also been asked to update The Effect You Have On Me, so I will work on that after I’ve written the next one for Hello. I have no clue how long this fic is going to be. I’m going to keep adding until I feel like it’s done. 
> 
> New poll! Do you empathize more with Katniss or Peeta, and why? See you next chapter! Pbg


	8. Can You Hear Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received a guest review asking if I was planning to update Stranger Things. Thank you for asking, btw, and yes I am not even close to finished with that one. It was my baby once, and then I started creating more ‘babies’ and now I have all these toddlers that need attention. You'd think I would know by now what causes these little oopsies. I need to invent some kind of Everlark plot bunny birth control. Wow this little note took a really weird turn...
> 
> So, back to this story. I hope you all are still interested after the last chapter! Thank you to Burkygirl for helping me keep all this straight. I suck at outlines, and even if I get them down I always deviate. Much more to come. I've got some wrenches to throw at these two. ;) Read on, my pretties!

 

It’s nearing midnight, and the stool I am perched on in the kitchen has been hurting me for at least an hour, but I’m too numb everywhere else from Peeta’s accusations to get up and move. _I lost my inspiration_. His answer to my question echoes over and over in my mind, along with an overwhelming sense of guilt that he lost something he’ll never get back. Or may never want back. My gut tightens like a vice at that thought, which brings me back to what I said – that I needed more time. That I might have said _yes_ eventually. My chest flutters at the idea of what that yes could have meant had I stayed, but the reality of the situation is heavy enough to keep it from becoming anything more.

As I sit here, alone, Prim still out with Rory and Mom asleep in her bedroom, I’m forced to think about how different life would have been if I had just waited. If I had told Peeta that I definitely wanted him in my future, but I just wasn’t ready for the type of commitment he was asking for. He probably would have been mildly disappointed, but nothing like he is now; bitter and broken beyond my recognition.

The Peeta I grew up with knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to take over his parents’ bakery, marry the girl of his dreams and have enough Mellark babies to make a very average-height, stocky, adorably dimple-chinned basketball team. It makes me smile, remembering the carefree conversations we had as preteens, and I recall having similar expectations for life - to settle down after college, work and have a family. Maybe not with as many children as Peeta had envisioned, but then again, I’m not sure at the ripe old age of thirteen that I was envisioning settling down with anyone in particular. I just thought it would happen one day with someone special. That is, until the day my father walked out on us.

It still astounds me that he could be so cruel, so brutal to the people he professed to love. The people that looked at him like he was a hero, a person to turn to when everything went wrong. A person, or _the_ person, who could make it all better with a swipe of his thumb across a cheek as tears fell, or a warm, comforting hug after a bad dream. And when the glass of my perfect life was shattered by the one person it shouldn't have been, I swept the pieces aside to focus on the only other people in my life who knew what it was like to feel the kind of affliction that touched the deepest parts of my being.

I pushed everyone away, including my best friend, my rock - Peeta - who I suddenly couldn't see as a rock anymore. He tried to help. He came around a lot. Daily, in fact. We would talk for a little while about homework or plans for the weekend. He would test the waters of what was going on with me personally, but I always shut down, shut him out. He eventually stopped asking, and gradually, as I became more withdrawn, he visited a little less frequently. We always talked on the porch, me standing by the front window, hugging myself defensively, though I wasn't sure why, and him resting in the swing trying to coax me to sit next to him.

I stopped letting anyone in the house during that time. I didn’t want people to see my mother’s bizarre state, the considerable void in our kitchen cabinets, or the sporadic darkness of the halls and rooms as our electricity bills were delinquent from time to time. It was too humiliating to let someone see what my life had become. People talk in a small town, so I had to guard against any and every thing.

There was already enough talk at that point about what actually went on between my father and his mistress. I never knew who she was, never wanted to know who he chose over us. I thought ignoring the details would make it easier to cope with.

In addition to looking after Mom and Prim, I worked after school, cleaning homes, raking leaves in the fall, mowing yards in the summer, all under the guise that I was saving for college. It kept me busy and gave me a great excuse not to be as social as I had been before my father’s betrayal, but it was extremely difficult to earn enough wages to pay the bills, small as they were. Thankfully the modest, two story victorian house we lived in had belonged to my maternal grandparents, and it was unmortgaged. Sixteen year old’s working part time didn’t earn extravagant pay checks. The tax bill that came at the beginning of every year was bewildering and, at almost four thousand dollars, I was sure we were going to lose the house after a few delinquent notices came with very scary words such as ‘fines’, ‘interest’, ‘lien’, and then ‘foreclosure’. I didn’t even know what they meant until I looked them up, at which point I became frantic and began selling off any items that I thought were valuable.

It was a hard time. I was scared. Lonely. I wanted desperately to let someone in, mainly Peeta, but I just couldn’t afford to trust anymore. In my mind I equated trust with loss, and I couldn’t find the will to be vulnerable and open to it again.

After I turned eighteen and graduated high school, things became a little easier. Dr. Aurelius had stepped in a year earlier and had been helping Mom with treatment, never charging us a dime. I was grateful to him. Without his kindness, it could have been so much worse.

I wasn’t in danger of losing Prim anymore, and with eight hours of free time on my hands I was able to work a full time job while taking college courses online at night. Prim was getting older and becoming more responsible. She always did her homework and got good grades, and she helped with Mom when I couldn’t.

I started enjoying a limited social life again, popping into the bakery to say hi to Peeta. When I allowed myself to think about him, which was too often considering all that had been going on, I realized I missed him terribly. And since I could finally breathe a little, I wanted to restore the friendship that was put on hold.

Peeta seemed excited to have me back around and we quickly became inseparable when weren’t busy, almost as if he two years of barely seeing each other hadn't happened at all.

He worked in the bakery late at night and early in the morning, then drove to the next town over to attend the same community college I was receiving my credits from online. After I got off work, and before my classes started, we both had free time to hang out. Neither of us really wanted anyone else’s company, plus most of our friends had gone away to school. As  time progressed, we grew even closer than we had been before my father left.

Then it happened. Everything changed one afternoon while we were sitting on the porch swing. It was the fall of our first semester of college. It was chilly, and I had gone in to get a blanket. After returning we snuggled up underneath it. I laid my head on Peeta’s shoulder, sighing peacefully and resting my weary eyes as the warmth of his body and the slight swaying of the seat lulled me into contentment. It came out of nowhere, it seemed, his hand under my chin, tilting my face to his. When I opened my eyes, curious as to what he was up to, he was so close that I felt completely immersed in the sweeping blue of his irises, so much that I temporarily forgot how to breathe.

I didn’t, _couldn’t,_ move, utterly transfixed by his stare and the heat of his nearness, though this time it had nothing to do with his body temperature. The first brush of his lips to mine, as he locked my eyes in place with that bewitching gaze, sent shivers through me. I leaned in as he pulled back, curious to find out what this excitement was that had begun its course through my body and had my heartbeat steadily climbing.

Our lips met a second time, and quickly after that a third, each kiss longer and more exploratory than the one before. His hands came to rest on my waist, and mine in his hair as we pulled each other closer. The blanket slipped down our bodies, exposing us to the plunging temperatures, afternoon fading into evening. The chill caused us to separate. I smiled shyly at him as he grinned broadly at me.

He left my house shortly after and I could swear I saw him briefly skip down the sidewalk, which made me grin like an idiot. The next few times we were together there was a hesitation when we touched, as if we knew things would never be the same between us and we were each scared to lose the other. I felt it the first night after he left, alone in my room when I had the chance to actually pick through in my mind what happened. I could tell he had been thinking the same. If I had been smart I would have stopped it then, but how could I? I felt something for my best friend that I had never felt before, and after such a long time of having no one in my life I could let go with, I became addicted. Addicted to his touch, to his kiss, to the way his body felt as it joined with mine for the first time, and many times after. I was dependent on our conversations, our connection. I hadn’t bonded like that with anyone. Ever. It felt secure. Until he wanted more. What more could I give him? It was all so perfect in my head the way it was. Why try to fix something that wasn’t broken? If dependence was a drug, his proposal was the cure. And just like that, the dam I had carefully constructed to block it out burst as all the fear and mistrust flooded back.

Things spiraled after that. Peeta tried to be understanding, but my constant dismissal of what he wanted pulled at the strings of our relationship until I couldn’t stand it anymore and cut them altogether. I was certain it was only a matter of time before Peeta would do to me what my father did to my mother. I never gave him the benefit of the doubt. I never tried to think about the good that it might do. I could only seem to focus on the harm it would cause. Fear is a crippling thing.

Looking back, I recognize that Peeta was the one person who knew more about me than I actually knew about myself. He’s right about what he said tonight. I didn’t trust him. I put everything in the past, kept my darkest secrets locked away, and didn’t deal with a single one of the emotions I buried when my father left. And when it was time to move forward, those things were standing in my way; a mighty brick wall that I wasn’t equipped to scale or knock down.

The sound of the front door, opening and closing softly, breaks me out of my thoughts. I need a respite from them, anyway, since remembering brings back way too much misery. Standing to give my backside reprieve from the wooden seat, I resolve to myself that Peeta is owed an apology of epic proportions.

Prim comes into view and startles when she sees me, her hand flying to cover her mouth to muffle a loud screech. “You scared me, Katniss!” she exclaims quietly with fear in her eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, feeling so exhausted from all the thinking that I can’t force more than that out of my mouth. I cross my hands loosely over my chest and lean back on the counter.

“Was it bad?” Prim asks, moving to the cupboards for a glass and then to the sink for water. I give her a questioning glance.

“Was what bad?”

“You’ve lived in the big city for way too long, Katniss,” she says, throwing me a sideways glance as she shuts off the faucet, gulps down half the glass and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know Peeta came by.”

I groan audibly, pushing my fingers through my hair, not caring if I catch any tangles. The physical pain brings a brief pause to the emotional distress inside. I really don’t want to talk about this, so I counter her question with one of my own. “How do you think it went?” What I really want to ask her is if she saw Peeta, and if she knows whether or not he said anything specific about it to Rye.

“Well, I only heard that he was here,” she tells me, her lips quirking to the side in a silent apology that she couldn’t give me more information.

“Let me guess; Rye told Gale who told Rory who told...,” I point my head in her direction and catch her gaze for effect as I say, “you.” She shrugs, asking how else she would have found out. We both know the channels that news travels fastest through in this town. Nothing between our little group is sacred. The mention of Gale reminds me that I still need to find him and punch him in the mouth. Maybe I’ll do it hard enough that it’ll stay closed for a while.

“It was bad,” I admit to Prim as I let my head hang down. I don’t want to get into the details of it all, so I leave it at that. Prim understands me, so she doesn’t push the subject or try to pull information out of me. She knows I’ll talk if and when I’m ready.

“I’m sorry, Katniss.” Prim’s words are always genuine, and these are no different. She gives me a hug and rubs my back for a few seconds before letting go and patting my cheek like a mother would.

“You should try to get some sleep. We’ve got a few wedding errands to run tomorrow, and I need you try on your dress. I’m looking forward to it, though! I haven’t been able to spend much time with just you since you came home.”

The chipper tone she uses makes me feel guilty. There is nothing I’d rather avoid than wedding chores. I’ve never been one to fuss over a dress, or care about place settings and where everyone will sit. I might even rather have a repeat argument with Peeta than tag along to try on silk and chiffon, and _heels_. I try not to make a disgusted face at the thought of my feet shoved into some pointy pair of pumps that make them sweat and hurt so bad I want to cut them off at the ankles after an hour. But Prim is absolutely brimming with anticipation and excitement, even this late at night, and seeing her happy tugs me out of my woe-is-me mood and into a slightly better one before we say goodnight.

After changing into sleep clothes and brushing my teeth, I lay quietly under the covers of my bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. Sleep is far beyond my reach tonight, so I don’t even pursue it. Instead, I throw my arms across my forehead as I try to write on the tablet of my mind what I can say to Peeta that might begin to resolve our situation.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was short! I had another scene to add but I wanted to get something out to you before interest starts falling away. I will update again this week, though. The weekend was busy, busy plus two migraines. It’s no fun to stare at a bright screen when your head hurts. I feel like I have navigated some scary parts and now I can move on to their eventual healing. You may now refer to me as Dr. Pbg. :)
> 
> I’m hearing lots of ‘Peeta has responsibility, too’, and I promise we will get there. But I’m not going to switch any pov’s in this story so we will have to find out when he acts, speaks or from gossip. What did you think of Katniss’ thoughts? Is she still too selfish or does she have some legit reasoning behind her actions?


	9. I'm In California Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop! Moving right along with this baby! I am not going to subscribe to the notion that Katniss is selfish. She’s human, and more than that she’s protective. Protective of Prim first, and then herself. I think there can be a perception of people as different than what they actually are when we haven’t experienced their pains and losses. When you’ve been cut deeply by someone, especially someone who was supposed to love you unconditionally, it’s a difficult hole to crawl out of. Even if the people around you have every intention of helping you find your way out. It’s hard to see the forest, folks. Anyway, enjoy and then discuss!

 

 

Steam from my coffee rises through the small slit in the to-go cup as I walk through the snow to get to Prim’s car. The morning is bright and the sun glints off the white ground, making it seem as though a million tiny crystals fell out of the sky during the night. It’s beautiful, but bone-chillingly cold. I feel underdressed for the weather in skinny jeans, a green puffer jacket over a gray fitted sweater, gloves, the fur-capped snow boots I had to borrow from Prim, along with a dark brown beanie I found in the top of her closet. In spite of it all, I shiver and hug myself. Through the windshield I can see Prim giving me a dubious look. Life in California has obviously made me forget what cold feels like. The Pennsylvania winter has me hoping we’ll be in and out of stores quickly as we check the errands off Prim’s list. Thankfully, the car has been idle for fifteen minutes and the inside is nice and toasty.

 

“Where to?” I ask her as she puts the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway, tires crunching frozen snow.

 

“Dresses first. I’m so excited for you to see mom’s dress on me and I can’t wait to see yours on you!” The squeal of delight I can tell she’s holding back makes me grin. When Prim had asked me if she could wear Mom’s wedding dress, I didn’t hesitate for a second. _“Of course you can,”_ I had said. _“Why would you ask?”_ The reason behind her question had been lost on me, but Prim confided that she thought I may want to wear it some day. At the time, I had laughed it off. Of course I wasn’t going to use it.

 

But as I sit in a plush, leopard-printed chair in the tiny boutique where the seamstress fits my baby sister in my mother’s long, silk wedding dress, a sadness tugs at my chest. It’s beautiful on Prim, draping over her small curves like a second skin before flaring out slightly at the knees. The delicate lace-capped sleeves accentuate the tone in her arms, and the creamy color of her skin is highlighted by the pearly hue of the fabric. Intricate lace dips in a ‘v’ down the back of the dress, exposing her skin in places and stopping just below her waist, then darting back out at the back of her thighs, forming a small train that pools behind her.

 

She looks so grown up. So _womanly_. My vision is blurring and I blink to clear it, but when I do my cheeks become damp with tears. Prim is looking in the mirror and I wipe furiously at my skin to clear the moisture away before she sees.

 

“Katniss!” Prim coos at me softly, tugging up her dress so she can walk to me without tripping over its length. The train makes a soft whooshing sound as it drags along the carpet behind her. She kneels in front of me and places a hand on my knee, rubbing it to comfort me. “What is it?” She has no idea how loaded her question is, or how this is so not the right time to talk about it. She has no idea how much I regret leaving. And not just because of Peeta, but also because I missed Prim becoming the woman she is today.

 

I flash her my biggest, proudest smile and grab her hand with both of mine, patting it encouragingly. “I’m just so happy for you. You look… _amazing_ in mom’s dress. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.” Wrapping my arms around her I pull her into a tight hug, being careful not to tug on the lace of the dress.

 

When we separate, I sniff, trying to keep the rest of my emotions locked up tight while Prim wipes the last few tear tracks from my skin with the pads of her thumbs.

 

“Thank you,” she says. “Are you ready to see your dress?” I nod, giving her a tight-lipped smile and push myself out of the seat. The seamstress hands me a tissue, then disappears through a door. I mutter a quick thank you and dab at my eyes quickly, clearing my throat in an effort to forget my little breakdown.

 

“So, what do you think?” Prim asks, pointing behind me. I turn to see the seamstress coming back into the changing room carrying a satiny fabric in a shade of blue that reminds me of Peeta’s pupils when we were alone, darkened and fat with lust. I stare at the dress, unable to see anything else with my mind’s eye other than the way his gaze used to rake over me with acute appreciation. And I remember how my limbs melted into puddles as my insides flared to life when I watched him take in every detail of my naked flesh, like a man mapping valuable uncharted territory; as if the discovery of every dirt trail and small stream the region had to offer was his most important mission in life.

 

“Earth to Katniss?” Prim says, snapping her fingers at me. _What do I think_ , her question bounces around my head. I need to come up with an answer that doesn’t involve my once very active sex life with Peeta.

 

“It’s…” I pause as my brain searches for a word to describe the dress other than _dark blue_ or _satiny_ , since those two are quite obvious. What feels like minutes pass, Prim staring, waiting for something to come out of my mouth. Silence is all I can come up with. At this point I think the words _dog_ and _food_ meshed together would be better than nothing, but I can’t even get those to come out.

 

Thankfully, Prim decides to help me remember words. “Beautiful? Gorgeous? You’ve never expected to want to wear something so formal? Prim, I love it…” She drones on with examples as her hands move up and down, her eyes searching my face for any confirmation that she’s done well.

 

“All of the above,” I tell her. “You made me speechless, Prim.” And she did, but not because I’m dying to wear the dress. However, I may die over something I now realize I want, may have wanted all along, but can never have again.

 

“Katniss, you’re acting strange. Are you sure you’re okay?” The seamstress, to whom I am thankful hasn’t inserted her opinions or spoken much at all, hangs the dress next to the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind Prim and gives us a few moments. I can see my haggard expression in the reflective glass. My eyes are tinged red from crying and there are dark rings under them. My countenance looks troubled. No wonder Prim is concerned. Hell, I’m beginning to become concerned. I haven’t slept much, my demons are haunting me during the day now, and I’m supposed to put on a happy face for Prim when my emotional state is about as fragile as the shell of a hollow egg. One delicate tap in the right place and I may split in two.

 

When I say nothing, she guesses the problem. “Is it Peeta?” I groan at the mention of his name because, honestly, he’s only part of the problem. I can’t keep all my feelings from Prim, and as much as I don’t want to ruin her week, things come barrelling out.

 

“It’s everything really,” I start, flinging myself back into the chair. I feel the train pick up speed behind those words. “My whole, rotten life. The cards you and I were dealt were unfair. How were we supposed to beat those odds? It was a miracle that I was able to keep us alive on my own, and earn a degree to boot. I should be happy I was able to do that! I know I’ve made some mistakes, but who hasn’t? Am I going to have to answer for them every time I see the color blue or smell cinnamon and yeast? Will I never be able to go into a bakery again? I love carbs, Prim!” I don't dare give voice to the question of me ever finding someone like Peeta. He's irreplaceable. I know that now.

 

My tears stay locked up tight as sadness gives way to anger. Anger towards my father for his part. Anger towards my mother for not even trying to pull herself together for us. Anger towards myself for not being courageous enough to accept what I really wanted and fight my inner demons for it. Anger towards the situation in general, and all the hurt it has caused everyone.

 

And yet, here I stand with my baby sister, and she's getting married to her high school sweetheart in a matter of days. I'm both elated and terrified for her. How is she strong enough to go through with it?

 

“Katniss, you can't be afraid to live your life.”

 

“I'm not afraid to live my life,” I say adamantly as I slap my hand on the arm of the chair. But as much as I want to refute her statement I know she’s right.

 

“Of course you are,” she says. I look down at the floor because even though she's guessed the truth, habit tells me to hide it. She plows on, not waiting for a response. “And I'm not telling you that you don't have the right to feel that way. To be scared. But I am telling you that I can see you're not happy. Anyone can.” Prim pauses to place herself right in front of me, leaning over me and gently grabbing my shoulders. She flexes her fingers into my flesh to get me to look up at her.

 

“Find what makes you happy and do it.” Her advice is so straightforward. So plain. And yet so difficult. Because I have no idea what makes me happy. I know what made me happy once upon a time - my family, Dad included. And Peeta. My father burned one of those bridges and I doused the other with some gasoline and then held a flaming match to it.

 

“Katniss, in spite of everything, I'm happy because the people I love, love me back. I'm not saying it will always be perfect. But I am saying that I _choose_ to be happy in these moments. I can't predict the future, but I'm determined to be satisfied with today. Whatever comes, I'll deal with it then. But I don't want to look back one day and have regrets.” She stops and gives me a sad smile. “I don't want that for you either, but I'm pretty sure you already have at least one.”

 

When did Prim become so knowledgeable in the ways of life and the heart? I swell with a little pride that I may have nurtured that along. I was the only parent she knew during her adolescent years. Maybe I’m not a total screw up. Prim is proof of that.

 

“I’m so proud of you,” I say earnestly. I suck at being emotionally available, but I want to be better at it. Especially for Prim. Better late than never, I guess. “Let’s get this dress on and see exactly how much better you’ve made me look than yourself,” I tease her with a wink. There’s absolutely no truth to it, but Prim grins from ear to ear as she grabs the dark, silky fabric and opens the door to the only dressing room, ushering me in with a playful smack to my backside.

 

* * *

 

A meeting with the Reverend at the church is next on the list, and as we make the ascent up the front steps to the rounded, ornate doors I’ve always admired, I feel that tug again. The one I felt when Prim tried on mom’s dress. I don’t know exactly what it means, and I’m too scared to guess, so I stuff it down for later when I’m alone. And more than half awake.

 

My parents used to bring us here every Sunday, and as I look around I can see that my memories of the place are intact. The church hasn’t changed a bit. The wooden pews are polished to a shine, and the burgundy carpet that lines the center aisle has fresh vacuum lines across it. The stained glass windows arc upward into a point, and the sun shining through them casts a rainbow of color across the floors. Our boots clack against the stone floor, leaving tiny puddles of melted snow behind.

 

A door to our left creaks on its hinges, drawing our attention. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged back to town. No wonder the boy’s been coming around again,” Reverend Abernathy says in a gruff voice as he strolls over to us. “How are you, Sweetheart?”

 

“I’ve been alright,” I tell him as he stops in front of us. His response to seeing me again is puzzling. He says it as though my appearance explains something to him, but before I can ask what he means, he turns to Prim.

 

“Are you ready for the big day?”

 

“Almost!” Prim chirps excitedly. “I just came to bring you the vows I wrote.” She hands him a folded paper, but I can see through the thin parchment that it’s typed, single space and covers the entire length of the page. I cough to choke back a laugh, looking towards the windows when the Reverend’s eyes widen as he opens the paper. Leave it to Prim to be prepared, detailed and thoroughly organized.

 

“Is this all?” he asks, looking back and forth between me, Prim, and the romance novel she must have written as her wedding vows.

 

“That’s all for me. Rory will bring his by sometime before then,” Prim explains. At this, the Reverend’s eyes seem to jump out of their sockets. “Is he writing a book, too? Listen, Sweetheart,” I fight the eyeroll at the nickname Reverend Abernathy uses for any member of the female persuasion, “maybe I can tighten these up a bit. You know, if you trust me to. This could take a half hour to deliver and if Rory’s vows are similar in length, people could be snoozing by the time he gets to his first word.”

 

Prim looks to me, pleading in her eyes. I’m not sure what help she thinks I’m going to be. The thought that I’d prefer an elopement, so I wouldn’t have to deal with all the nauseating details that come with planning a wedding, takes me by complete surprise. The fake cough from earlier turns into a very real, very intense battle to breathe. I did not see that coming.

 

“Katniss? Are you okay?” Prim asks, thumping my back harder than a girl her size should be able to. I double over and wait for my breathing to return to normal. My throat feels as though it’s been closed off completely. I manage to rasp out the word ‘water’, and in a flash Prim appears with a cup full of it. I down a small sip, then another, and finally gulp down the last drops.

 

“What happened?” Prim asks, as the Reverend looks on with curiosity.

 

“I just, I guess, I - something got caught in the wrong pipe? I don’t know.” I wipe my cheeks with the backs of my hands and take a deep breath. I think I just had my first somewhat pleasant thought about marriage since my father ran off.

 

I shake my head _no_ when Prim asks if I need more water before she turns back to Reverend Abernathy. They talk for a few minutes more about the service, and then Prim excuses herself to use the restroom before we go. Finding myself alone with the Reverend, I act on my opportunity to ask him what his comment was about before my courage seizes up.

 

“So, what did you mean earlier? When you said the boy has been coming around?” I shift my weight from side to side, and fidget with the zipper of my puffer coat waiting for his answer.  

 

He crosses his arms, looking satisfied that I asked. “Your boy, Peeta,” he tells me, just as casual as the day is cold.

 

“He’s not my boy,” I reply sharply, as another bout of longing tugs at me.

 

“You don’t notice much do you?” He makes a sound that comes out as a grunt, but I’m not all that sure it wasn’t supposed to be a laugh of some sort. “Sweetheart I think he’s always been your boy.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask with clear confusion etched across my tone.

 

“It’s what I do. I notice things, give advice --”

 

“But I didn’t ask for it.”

 

“You don’t have to. I can see regret all over you, so listen up,” he commands, which shuts me up instantly. “The heart is a fickle thing. It wants what it wants, and sometimes it latches on and won't let go no matter how far you run or who you try to fill the void with.” The way his eyebrows quirk gives me the distinct impression he's talking about me as well as Peeta.

 

Thankfully the conversation is interrupted by Prim. We say our goodbyes, which is really just Prim saying goodbye and me nodding my head slightly with my eyes concentrated on the floor.

 

Once in the car, Prim buckles up and adjusts her rearview mirror before starting the engine. She’s such a poster child for perfection. She looks at me guiltily as she pulls into the street and my gut tightens out of fear.

 

“So, I need to stop by the bakery and pay Peeta for the rest of the cake. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she says quickly, obviously noting my discomfort. “I can run you home, or you can stay in the car if you want. Although,” she adds thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side, “that might look a little cowardly.” This day is just not going to let up.

 

A thousand curse words string their way through my mind, but I don’t let one of them slip out of my mouth. I should just ask her take me home, but I’m obviously a glutton for punishment because as terrified as I am of running into a repeat of last night, I _want_ to see Peeta. I want to see for myself what he’s feeling today. I want to drink in his chiseled features and blue eyes, no matter how callously they flash in my direction.

 

“It’s fine, Prim. I’ll go with you,” I say as cheerily as I can muster, hoping that something at least civil will pass between me and Peeta. I want him to know how sorry I am and that I want us to eventually be friends again. I want the coldness between us to thaw, like the coming of spring. As Prim parks in front of the curb that lines Mellark’s bakery, I know this is how it should begin. What I’m more skeptical about is whether or not Peeta is ready to let me back in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop me a line about your thoughts on this chapter. They do shape my future chapters as they are not written (duh) and the only outline is in my head. It’s like my mind is a lava lamp… it’s in there, but it makes all kinds of weird shapes before it comes out.
> 
> Thank you to Burkygirl again! She caught something so small, but after it was pointed out it made a big difference. She’s a bloodhound! You should totally check out her stories on FFnet, (right after you leave me a comment). Especially her grow together fic, Phoenix Rising. She’s got a twist up her sleeve. Until next time ~ Pbg


	10. About Who We Used To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It’s me. I was wondering if after all this time you’re still reading. LOL. I’m a nerd. It’s a good thing nerd is in these days! Thank you to Burkygirl again for her rocking beta skills. I accept all her changes pretty much without question. That being said, all mistakes are hers. :)

 

“On second thought, Prim,” I say as I stare at the bakery in front of us. The knowledge that Peeta is just a few hundred feet away from me makes my mouth go dry and my legs turn to lead in the passenger’s seat. I couldn’t lift them if I wanted to. “Maybe I’ll just wait out here for you.” The wounds he and I carved into each other last night are too fresh. I should have just had her take me home. It’s only a few blocks, but with all the snow and ice on the roads, I don’t want my sister to have to get out more than she needs to. Plus, I’m sure she’s exhausted with all the wedding planning.

 

She gives me a tight-lipped smile that I know means she’s sorry. Whether it’s for bringing me here or for my entirely screwed up life, I’m not sure. Maybe both. But I can’t look at her for very long. I feel like my blemished soul is on display.

 

“Okay. I’ll be right back,” she says, climbing quickly out of the car. I watch as she nimbly picks her way through snow and ice until she reaches the freshly shoveled walkway leading up to Mellark’s Bakery. When she’s safely inside, I dig out my phone and begin to play a round of mind-numbing candy crush. I’ve been stuck on level 205 for a month.

 

Just as I’m about to advance to level 206, the sudden and sharp sound of knuckles rapping on the window next to me causes me to jump. My finger swipes in the wrong direction and I lose again. Annoyed, I turn to the window and find Gale’s nose smashed against the glass as he makes an obnoxious face at me. The sight of him instantly boils my blood and I can’t wait to make his face look that way permanently.

 

Prim left the car running, so I roll the window down to let him speak to me. To my delight, he takes the bait, settling his arms on the door and leaning his head in. I latch onto his ear with a grip I would reserve for one of the naughty kids in my class. He howls and tries to pull away, making me clamp down harder.

 

“You win!” he yelps, raising his hands as high as he can without putting more strain on the connection of my thumb and forefinger with the tender cartilage of his ear. I give it one good yank before releasing him. “What was that for?” he yells, rubbing the spot furiously with the palm of his hand and squinting at me in obvious pain. _Good_.

 

“You don’t know?” I ask with a doubtful, mocking voice. He shakes his head, still tending to his ear. I pop out of the car faster than he was expecting and he backs up a few steps, almost slipping on the ice. He catches himself, though, and straightens as I approach. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Katniss Everdeen,” I say sarcastically as I hold out my hand. He eyes it suspiciously. “You must be Gale ‘Gossip Girl’ Hawthorne?”

 

He rolls his eyes, clearly fed up with my little game, and I drop my hand to my hip. “Get to the point, Katniss,” he says, rotating his finger in a circle, trying to hurry me along.

 

“Why did you have to ask Peeta about going to L.A. in front of Cassie? You idiot!” I look around the street, and hush my tone. It’s pretty deserted, but in a small town you never know who’s listening. “Now he’s all pissed at me because he thinks I’m responsible for his break up!”

 

“That’s real rich, _Catnip_ ,” he laughs arrogantly. “You wanna pin that on me? Have you forgotten how tiny this town is? Everyone has already heard how you broke into the bakery and practically shoved in Cassie’s face how tight you and Peeta used to be.”

 

I fire every dagger in my eyes straight at him. “I’m not responsible for what’s happening between you and Peeta. That was all thanks to you,” he says, shaking his head and spreading his arms out like he’s just performed the world’s greatest magic trick. He’s a cocky s.o.b. “If anything, I did both you and Cassie a favor.”

 

I feel my face morph into the most hideously incredulous look. My facial muscles actually ache it feels so repulsive. And I’m speechless to boot. Only Gale can possibly think he did me a favor by running his mouth off like the worst case of diarrhea.

 

“It’s true,” he continues calmly, giving me a slight nod and looking as if I should be grovelling at his feet and professing my endless devotion. “I sent her away. Albeit accidentally, but now you can have him back.” My face loosens so quickly from the shock of his comment that I think my jaw actually scrapes the snow at my feet.

 

Gale folds his hands in front of him and wags his eyebrows at me. If people think we’re getting back together, they will be highly disappointed. They don’t have a clue what took place between us last night - a destructive match of blame game with no winner or resolution of any kind. Peeta probably wants nothing to do with me. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” A small, but quickly growing, part of me can’t deny that Gale’s observation, however naive, gives me hope.

 

“You never know.” He sticks his hands in his jean pockets and shrugs his shoulders. I fold my hands over my chest and roll my eyes. “Katniss, you’ve been gone for four years. I’ve been here for most of that time watching my friend try to piece himself back together. ‘Life-after-Katniss’ has not been pretty, believe me.” He shakes his head and laughs lightly, remembering something.

 

“What?” I ask, fixing him with a curious gaze. I find myself wanting to know things that went on while I was away.

 

“This one time. God, it was so pathetic. Rye and I dragged him to a titty bar- Ow!” Gale winces after I slug him hard on his upper arm. “What was that for?”

 

“For dragging Peeta to a strip club!” I yell.

 

“What do you care? You were- oh... wait a minute,” he says, slowly dragging out his words and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You _do_ care. Don’t you, Katniss? All that running away didn’t really fix anything, did it?”

 

Gale steps back and raises his arms in surrender as I wind up my fist again. “Truce!” he says, closing his eyes tight and waiting for me to deliver the blow. I lower my arm, not interested in taking _all_ my frustrations out on my old friend. Especially when I can’t deny there isn’t some truth to his statement. Of course, I’ll deny it to _him_.

 

“Anyway,” Gale says pointedly, “he was so messed up. He never once looked at any of the girls. Not even when we bought him a lap dance.” Gale backs up at the look on my face. I swear my eyes are smoldering so furiously you could cook an egg on my eyeball in record time. And I may be developing a tick as I feel my right eyelid open and close a few times in rapid succession.

 

The thought of Peeta with a stripper grinding herself down on him and shoving her plastic double D’s in his face is infuriating. It’s one thing to think that maybe things have happened, but you have no real proof. You can pretend they didn’t, or that they don’t. Like in the case with Cassie. I have no idea if they’ve ever been sexual. It’s a good probability, given the length of the relationship, but I can assume they didn’t. And it’s a very valid assumption since they had a long distance relationship.

 

“Katniss?” Gale’s voice snaps me out of the daymare of Peeta being sexual with other women. “What’s happening with your eye?”

 

I make a sound of disgust and shake my head, hoping my ‘twitch’ will resolve itself while Gale chooses to switch topics. Fine by me. I can’t stand to hear any more of this.

 

“Hey, so I’m having the group over tonight. One last get together before things get crazy with the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner, then the big day. You should come. It’ll be like old times.” The look on his face is hopeful. I miss my friends. And to be honest, I miss my old life. But I’m sure Peeta will be there, so I avoid answering his question.

 

“Please tell me you’re not taking Rory to a strip club?” His guilty expression gives him away. “Gale! This is my sister’s soon-to-be husband! What is Prim going to think?”

 

“She’s all for it, as long as he doesn’t touch or get touched,” he replies. “We’ve already checked with the Mrs.”

 

“Who is _we_?” I question, trying to ignore the crushing feeling in my lungs.

 

“The guys,” he says. I’m sure I already know the answer, but a piece of me hopes he doesn’t say it. “Me, Rory, Rye and Peeta.” _Damn!_ He said it.

 

I quickly begin rubbing my right eye as I feel it start to twitch again. _Stupid titty bars!_ Why do guys have to go there anyway? Can’t they just watch movies and eat out of ice cream containers like girls do? Everything about this screams _wrong_. I’m sure I’ll be laying in bed tomorrow night wondering whether some faceless girl is rubbing her freshly waxed crotch in Peeta’s lap. I can’t even imagine what his eyes will be trained on. Her pretty face? The valley of her perfect cleavage? Her tiny waist or further down? Okay, maybe I _can_ imagine it, and it doesn’t help my irritation one bit.

 

“You’re doing it again,” Gale interrupts. A frustrated growl escapes from the back of my throat, and my hands fist tightly at my sides, willing me to keep some self control.

 

“Look, Katniss,” Gale’s tone is soft. While I know he has a sweet side, it’s rarely seen and it grabs my attention right away. “You need to come tonight. It’ll do you some good to be with your friends.” He reaches out and touches my arm. It’s so comforting that I almost give in.

 

“I can’t, Gale.” I could if Peeta weren’t going to be there, but I don’t want to sound petty so I don’t ask.

 

“You can’t make us choose between you two. You need to come. If you’re going to move back here you need to start getting comfortable around Peeta-”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” I tell him, holding my hand up to stop him from going further, needing a chance to process what he’s just said. “Who said I’m moving back here?” He eyes me cautiously. His eyebrows are knit together, as he struggles to find the right response. It looks kind of painful, actually. I might have even laughed if I wasn’t still suppressing the urge to murder him. Gossip, titty bars, and now some new secret? I feel like I’ve returned to high school.

 

Gale looks away from me and rubs the back of his neck self consciously. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you thought…” he trails off and it’s clear he needed more time to work on his answer.

 

“You are the worst liar, you know that? Spill it,” I demand. Gale groans as though he knows he’s going to be in trouble. I’ve got him now. I grin like the cat that ate the canary.

 

“I heard it from Rory,” he says.

 

“Who heard it from Prim,” I finish in a whisper, my gaze lingering someplace in the distance. Why would Prim tell anyone I’m moving back? I’ve never said anything of the sort to her.

 

The bell on the bakery door jingles, and we both look to see Prim prancing out the door. She’s all smiles and giddy features, like a schoolgirl in love. It almost upsets me to have to be the one to wipe it off.

 

“Gotta go!” Gale says with nod to Prim as he rushes past her and into the bakery.

 

“Ready?” she asks me, completely unaware of what I know.

 

“Home?” I ask, concealing my temper with a tight smile.

 

“Yep. Home.”

* * *

 

 The ride to the house took all of sixty seconds, but it was the longest minute of my life. I didn’t want to have it out with Prim in the car about why she would tell anyone I’m moving back, so I asked her for a description of the cake and tried to pay attention when she answered. I think it’s three tier white with buttercream and raspberry filling. Or was it strawberry? It was a berry for sure.

 

Now I’m in my room standing in front of the open window, pulling at my lip with my fingers while I stare blankly into the neighbors back yard. I excused myself from Prim immediately with a headache. I have to think, not just react. Reacting is what usually gets me into trouble. What got me into this mess in the first place.

 

The freezing air chills my skin and the bright afternoon sun warms my bones. It’s one of the strangest feelings - to be hot and cold all at once. It reminds me of my relationships at the moment, with Prim, my mother, and Peeta. Even Gale. I love them, and always will, but they hold in their hands the power to make me indignant and outraged by their choices. Does it mean I love them any less? No. If anything, the reconciliation brings us closer. I know Prim and I will reconcile. She’s my sister, and our relationship is worth so much to me. Gale and I will resume our normal antics without any spoken apology. That’s the kind of friends we are. I have to make a different kind of peace with my mother. It’s one sided, but she’s my mother.

 

The only person I haven’t had resolution with is Peeta. Is resolution even possible? Will there ever come a day when we can be in the same room and not feel that he hates me? I know I could never hate him. Seeing him again has proven that. But will he ever look at me with any kind of compassion or friendship again? Or will he always see the girl who ripped his heart open?

 

My head turns as a knock sounds on the door and it squeaks open. Prim pokes her head through and I realize I’ve been contemplating Peeta’s and my relationship instead of focusing on the reason I holed myself up here in the first place.

 

“Come in,” I say formally, even though she's already halfway across the room. She flops onto the bed Indian style and folds her hands in her lap.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks me. “Did Gale upset you?” Hardly. What he said was upsetting, but knowing where it came from makes anything Gale did seem like child's play.

 

“Actually, he did say something.” Prim’s expression grows concerned, but she doesn’t offer any knowledge about what Gale said. Maybe she didn’t say it? No, that can’t be right. Gale may be a gossip but his information has always been reliable.

 

“What?” she asks innocently.

 

“Well,” I start, deciding to be up front with Prim. I don’t want to dance around this issue. We’re sisters and nothing should come between us. Surely there’s a good explanation. “He asked me to come over tonight, and when I said no, he told me that I may as well get used to being around Peeta if I’m going to be moving back.”

 

Prim’s eyes widen and her features freeze. I wait a few seconds for her to respond, but the longer the silence stretches, the more anxious I become.

 

“Did you tell Rory I was moving back?”

 

“No!” she yells. “Well... not exactly.” She looks away from me and I can tell there’s a sticky story coming.

 

“Spit it out,” I bark. I don’t have the patience to deal with more drama. There’s enough of it going around right now without adding to it.

 

“I was talking to Rory about asking you to move home. He must have told Gale.” At the mention of how I came across this bit of news, her eyes narrow and she mumbles something about killing both of them. The confession still leaves me confused.

 

“What?” I ask, trying to make sense out of the sliver of knowledge she supplied me with.

 

“Katniss, sit down.” Prim pats the bed next to her, and I numbly obey. Once settled, Prim takes my hand in hers and smiles weakly at me. “I wanted to do this at the right time, but you’ve been so distracted and anxious lately, and I know you’re dealing with a lot coming back here, and Peeta, and Mom… there’s just so much going on, but-” she stops and takes a deep breath. “I’m getting married.”

 

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here,” I say, urging her to continue and give me some clarity about what’s happening.

 

“I’ve been here the last four years taking care of Mom while trying to go to school and work, just like you did. I know you’ve been sending us money and it’s been a huge help, please don’t think it’s never been appreciated. It has, and I owe you so much-”

 

“Prim you don’t owe me anything but an explanation, okay?” Her nervous demeanor is making me edgy. I probably could have chosen better words, but I hope my she understands that she doesn’t need to thank me.

 

“I want to live my own life, Katniss. I don’t just want Rory to move in here so that the two of us can take care of Mom for the rest of our lives. I’m twenty. I want to move into a place that’s just mine and Rory’s. I want to sleep in and come home late, and go away for weekend vacations with my husband.”

 

“So you want me to move back to help with Mom,” I say softly, more to acquaint myself with the idea than to ask Prim if that what she wants.

 

“Yeah, I’d like you to. I’ll still be around. I’m not moving away or anything, but I need some new experiences in my life and I can’t do that without help.”

 

I know what she’s saying is true, and I have been gone a long time. But something about it just doesn’t sit well with me right now. I need time to think. And plan. I've only just begun to heal my relationships with the people I left behind. Well, except for one, which just might be the one that matters most of all. If I knew that Peeta would accept my return, this would be an easy decision. There's nothing for me in LA. The grass didn't turn out to be greener on the other side, metaphorically speaking. It's actually much greener in the physical sense, at least at this time of year. I sigh. I wish I hadn't left things so messed up.

 

There are other factors to consider, though. “I’m under contract at the school, and we’re only in the middle of the year. If I came back it wouldn’t be until summer,” I tell Prim. She visibly relaxes and a huge grin steals over her sweet face.

 

“I figured as much, but the fact that you’re even considering it right now makes you the best sister ever!” She launches into me and I almost topple off the bed under the force. “Of course, you already were the best.” Prim squeezes me tight and then lets go, moving back to her place on the bed.

 

“Tell me, though, Prim,” I say, still having one unanswered question for her. She nods for me to continue. “Why did you talk to Rory about it first rather than just asking me?” She gives me a baffled look.

 

“Well, if I can’t talk to him, then who can I talk to?”

 

“Me, of course,” I say, just as baffled at Prim’s response as she was at my question.

 

“Katniss, we’re sisters. We’ll always have a bond, but Rory’s my rock now. He’s my go to when I need to vent or cry or laugh. I love him, and he loves me and we protect each other,” she says so sincerely it’s hard not to believe that a husband wouldn’t break my heart. She picks up my hand and pats it fondly. “I want that for you. I want you to feel the utter contentment I’m feeling right now. Just promise me you won’t push love away again, okay?”

 

How did she come out so unscathed after all my dad did? He pretended. He made me think he loved me, _us_ , and then pulled the tablecloth of lies out of from under us so quickly I didn’t even know who I was anymore. My whole identity was wrapped up in the perfect family, and then it was just gone one day. I never believed in family again. Family is the result of marriage, and marriage is the result of love. So I thought if I never loved a man, I wouldn’t have to go through that again. The problem is, I think I do love a man. The fervor of my feelings for him snuck up on me as quickly as my dad left. And as much as I have tried to deny and push it all away, it’s still there. I can feel it in my chest. In my bones. Every part of me, really. Waiting. Dormant, but patient. And quite possibly more volatile than when I locked it away.

 

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Prim speaks up. “Rory’s not dad. And Peeta’s not dad. Not by a long shot. You can’t judge every man on the planet based on one man’s actions. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to you.”

 

“When did you get so smart?” I ask her.

 

“I had to take a psych class last semester. I’m just putting all that information to good use. Besides, Rory asks me not to use all that ‘voodoo head stuff’ on him. He hates when I try to examine his words and tell him what he’s feeling. So, you’re my patient today.” She winks at me playfully. “First session’s free.”

 

“I better get it together then, or I’ll owe you more than I’m worth,” I tease.

 

Prim smiles and gets up from the bed, making her way toward the door. “I’m going to get a shower and get ready to go to over to Gale’s. You coming?” she asks, stopping in the middle of the room and looking back at me.

 

“I don’t know,” is all I can offer.

 

“Okay. It needs to be your decision. But just so you know, you’re worth way more than than you let yourself believe.”

 

I wish I could agree.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving along at a snail’s pace. Sorry it’s been almost two weeks. I did update another fic. Kinda got a few slaps on the hand for it, not that I mind that people want me to update this one, but please have faith in me to continue updating until it’s finished. I only meant for this to be a Christmas thing and maybe 7 chapters long, but as always, I had no idea what I was getting into when I started. Honestly, I shouldn’t be writing. I have too much going on and many times a week something demands my attention and the updates have to go on the back burner. But I can’t let go of the dream! It’s my only creative outlet anymore. 
> 
> I will update again in a few days. Next chapter will be some fun times, courtesy of a request from Loueze and Notanislander, and another moment between K&P. Leave a review of what you’d like to see in the future of this story! It inspires the direction of my writing! Pbg


	11. When We Were Younger And Free

Standing in front of Gale and Rory’s childhood home, memories flash through my mind of a time that was easier and carefree; hide and seek, climbing trees, blanket forts in the living room on rainy days. Relationships were simple and there were no limits to our imaginations. Sometimes I wish I could go back to when times were simple and carefree.

 

My nerves have been on edge pretty much since I left L.A. To be honest, I’m sick of it. I want to celebrate with Prim and enjoy my friends again. After hours of thinking this afternoon, I’ve decided I can do nothing else but offer one final apology to Peeta. The rest is up to him. If he wants to hate me for the rest of my life, so be it. I can’t change him and I can’t change what happened. I can only change me, and that’s what I’m determined to do.

 

The door opens before I can knock on it and Rory appears, all bundled up and ready for the cold.

 

“Katniss! Hey,” he greets me. He seems surprised to see me, and then his expression turns sheepish as he steps out onto the porch and pulls the door closed.

 

“Hey, yourself,” I answer him, trying not to sound as disapproving as I feel about his behavior. He kicks at the boards with his toe and thrusts his hands in his pockets. He looks like a little boy about to get in big trouble. “About what I said to Gale-”

 

“It’s fine, Rory,” I stop him before he can ramble off an apology to me. I’m not really the one he needs to do that with anyway. “Did you apologize to Prim?” He nods. “Good. It’s probably best that you keep her confidence. I know you two are about to be married and share everything, including secrets and pasts, not that you don’t already know everything there is to know about each other.” Now I’m rambling. A deep breath of the frozen air helps me clear my head and cut to the chase of what I want to say. “Just don’t betray her trust, okay? In any form. That’s all I ask.” Deep down I’m sure he would never do anything to harm Prim, but what kind of sister would I be if I didn’t at least warn him to be careful with her?

 

Rory surprises me as he steps closer and envelopes me in a tight hug. We’ve never shown this level of affection to one another. I would tousle his hair like he was my little brother when we were younger, or pin him down and tickle him until he told me where Gale was hiding. He may have peed his pants once or twice, but I swore to him I would never tell anyone. To this day, Prim doesn’t even know.

 

“I’ll tell everyone you wet your pants multiple times throughout childhood if you hurt my sister,” I warn playfully as my arms wrap around his tall but thin frame, patting his back a few times before I let go.

 

“Hey! You promised!” He laughs, opening the door to the house and gesturing for he to go inside.

 

“Where are you off to?” I ask.

 

“Gale forgot the beer,” he tells me with a wink as he sets off to the convenience store up the road. I roll my eyes so hard they almost get stuck in the back of my head. Gale doesn’t ever purposefully forget the beer. He’s just too cheap to pay for it if someone else is willing.

 

I close the front door of the Hawthorne home behind me, shutting out the frosty night air. My body shivers one final time before relaxing into the warmth of the house. There seems to be no one on this level, but I know where everyone hangs out, so I make my way through the living room and kitchen until I reach the stairs that lead down into the basement - Gale’s current residence. I hope he moves out soon. Surely this girlfriend he spoke of has no idea he still lives with his mother.  

 

I hear voices and the sound of pool balls clicking together. The game room was always a popular hang out for us as teenagers and when I reach the bottom I scan the room to see it hasn’t changed a bit, except for a double bed in the far corner that looks as if a five year old put the covers on it.

 

Gale and Peeta both have pool sticks in their hands. Peeta’s back is towards me as he leans over the table and my eyes seem to have a mind of their own when they take a quick tour of his backside. It still looks amazing in jeans, and stirs up some familiar feelings inside me. I blink and try to focus on everyone else instead. Prim, Rye, and a curvy blonde girl I’ve never met before watch the game from mismatched bar stools next to the wall. Rye sees me first and yells my name enthusiastically, which causes everyone to stop what they’re doing and look in my direction.

 

“Glad you came!” Rye says, coming over to give me a hug that feels like he lifts me ten feet off the ground. I hang on for dear life with my arms around his neck and I can’t help the huge grin that spreads across my face. I miss this. When he puts me down, Prim is next to give me a hug. She rubs my back, silently communicating that she’s here for me and knows this could be difficult.

 

“Catnip!” My expression instantly turns sour at the name and I cut Gale an unappreciative glance, but inside I do a happy dance. “I want you to meet Madge,” he says as the blonde hops off the stool to come and meet me. She looks like a ski bunny in light gray leggings, a brown cable-knit sweater that could use a few more inches, and thick, furry boots that seem like she attached a couple of small, woodland animals to her feet. Gale is so predictable.

 

“Hi, Katniss! I’ve heard so much about you!” She’s chipper that’s for sure, and she hugs me as if we’ve been friends forever. I want to say something about personal space, but decide against it since she’s obviously Gale’s girlfriend and I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Madge,” I tell her as I gently pry her arms from around me and step back. Over her shoulder, my eyes find the one person that hasn’t greeted me yet, and I relax a little at the perceptive smirk on his face. Peeta knows how uncomfortable I can be when people I don’t know, and some that I do know, make themselves too familiar with me. He looks at ease with his hair hanging down across his forehead and a shirt that has me conjuring up visions of pretty much every ridge and valley of his arms and chest. My chest constricts and I know I’ve missed him more than I have anyone else.

 

“Katniss loves hugs, Madge. You girls will be great friends,” Peeta says coolly as he turns back to the game and leans over again. I might have been distracted by the perfect curvature of his butt once more if it weren’t for the snarky comment. Madge claps her hands together like she just received ‘super great’ news and gives me a bright smile. When I attempt to duplicate it, it feels like more of a grimace.

 

Madge pulls Prim and me to the three barstools as the boys resume their game. She starts talking about the wedding - colors, flowers, what the church looks like. What’s everybody wearing? Will there be dancing? Oh shoot, she forgot her black heels, does anyone have some can she borrow…  She seems genuinely interested in Prim, so she has that going for her, but the rest is mind numbing to me.

 

I cast a death glare towards the table of boys, all watching me and seeming to enjoy my displeasure. Peeta’s eyes are dancing with amusement and his expression is a little too cocky. “I’ve got winner,” I say when Madge takes a breath. I jump off my stool and stand next to Gale, who is one shot away from certain defeat. Peeta and I perfected this game over the years and I know just how to beat him. Of course, seductive shooting may not work between us anymore, but if he wants to play dirty, I’m game.  

 

Peeta sinks the eight ball and Rye slaps Gale on the back as he groans and lowers his head in mock shame. Gale hands me the stick and gestures towards Peeta. “He’s all yours.” The words sting a little and a quick glance at Peeta’s face tells me he heard it the same way I did. He clears his throat and begins to pick the balls out of the pocket, rolling them down the table towards me. His eyes are on the bright green fabric of the table, but I can see his expression is serious. Not the enthusiastic one he wore when we used to play together.

 

I grab the balls and toss them unceremoniously in the triangular rack. I place my fingers inside the bottom edge to tighten the alignment, swiftly rolling them forward and then back. I lift the triangle off and hand it to Rye, who stands next to me. Feet pounding on the stairs pulls our attention and a few cheers go up as Rory descends with two cases of Heineken.

 

“There’s two more in the car,” he tells us, and Rye dashes up the steps to retrieve them. Peeta puts the pool stick down and tears open one of the cases, pulling out two bottles and popping the tops off. He walks towards me and hands me one, then steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge and, it might be my imagination, but I think they’re larger than they used to be. His chest seems broader, too.

 

Turning the bottle up helps me drag my eyes away from his perfectly sculpted torso. He was fit when we were together, and I loved the way his body looked. But now it seems even better. I haven’t really seen him in the light without heavy layers of clothing on since I returned. My eyes are not disappointed and I wonder now if challenging him to a game was such a good idea.

 

“Ladies first?” he asks, tipping his bottle towards the colorful triangle. I watch as he takes a drink and his throat bobs as he swallows. He has smooth, kissable skin on his neck. I remember it well. I throw back another swig, then set the bottle on the edge of the table and take aim. A loud bang sends the balls scattering across it, and the one and ten go in.

 

“Stripes,” I call, heading towards him where I have a straight shot to the side pocket on the fifteen. He steps aside to give me space as I lean over the table. After that I easily trail the thirteen after the nine into the same corner pocket. The other balls are trickier shots, and all of Peeta’s solids are still on the table, but I manage to bounce the eleven off the wall, and it grazes his seven just perfectly enough to push the twelve into the pocket I called before the shot. The eleven goes in shortly after, leaving only the fourteen and the eight ball.

 

Peeta looks calm as he patiently watches me sink shot after shot. I’ve only run the table on him a handful of times, and the two shots I have left will need precise calculations on my part to win the round, but it doesn’t phase him at all. His eyes cut to mine, and flit away when he sees I’m watching him. I wonder if he’s stolen as many glances toward me as I have toward him?

 

I take a deep breath to clear my thoughts again. I am in no position to be thinking about Peeta that way. He just broke up with someone, and while he doesn’t seem to be completely shutting me out, he’s not welcoming me with open arms, either. I refocus my attention on the fourteen, but the ring of a cell phone interrupts my attempt at concentration. Peeta pulls his giant smart phone out of his pocket. He’s not far enough away to keep me from seeing Cassie’s face flash across the screen. I’m annoyed when I see him hand his stick off to Rye and ask him to fill in.

 

“I don’t want to be your surrogate loser,” Rye says sarcastically, looking over the table. Peeta shoots a hasty look at me before heading up the stairs. I faintly hear him say ‘hey’ as he answers her call. My stomach drops that he’s talking to her, and I don’t feel like playing anymore.

 

“Nevermind. I forfeit,” I tell Rye as I lay the stick amidst the leftover pool balls, pick up my bottle tip it to chug the last half of the beer.

 

“Another?” Rye asks, a sly grin on his face.

 

“God, yes.”

 

It only takes seconds for Rye to appear in front of me with a second beer, and we plop down on the couch together. The cushions sag with our weight and we end up rolling towards the center, our thighs touching. I lean my head against the back of the worn, plaid fabric and stare in the direction Peeta went. I don’t know if I want him to come back quickly or not. I hate that I consider Cassie my competition, since I’m positive Peeta doesn’t see me that way anymore. But jealousy is churning in my gut right now.

 

“If it helps,” Rye says as he takes a drink, “I honestly think he was distracting himself with her at first.” I give him a strange look.

 

“That actually doesn’t help. Not even a little, Rye. And things between Peeta and me are just... not good. I don’t know if they’ll ever be good again.”

 

“Just give it some time, Catnip.”

 

“I swear I’m not moving back if people insist on calling me that!” I say a little too loudly.

 

“You’re moving back?” My head snaps to attention in the direction of the stairs, where Peeta is frozen at the bottom. I can’t tell if he’s upset about it, but he definitely looks confused.

 

“Uuuuuuhhh,” is what comes out of my mouth while everyone stares at me, waiting for some answer. I survey the group, noting the different looks on everyone’s faces. Prim seems downright giddy. Rory looks mellow, although I imagine his insides are as happy as Prim’s outside. Gale is whispering something in Madge’s ear, and her expression goes from one of ignorance to understanding in record time for a blonde with her bust size. Next to me, Rye flashes a pleasantly surprised grin. He lifts his arm, drops it across my shoulders and says, “It’s about time.”

 

It’s so ironic how, all of a sudden, people seem to want to keep the gossip from spreading. This one time it would have been helpful if Peeta had heard this from Rye or Gale rather than from me - the person he can barely stand to look at anymore. I’m silent for too long, and it must give Peeta the impression I didn’t want him to know. “Apparently no one tells me anything anymore,” he says, turning to go back up the stairs.

 

“Peeta!” I call out to him, struggling to get off the drooping couch. Rye’s hands end up on my butt, pushing me to a stand. It’s strange having his hands there and it takes me by surprise. “Paws off!” I instinctively say to him, whacking his arms away with my free hand. I look up the stairs expecting the space to be empty. Instead, I find Peeta giving Rye a vicious look. I glance back to his brother, holding up his hands in surrender.

 

“I was just trying to help,” he says to Peeta with an apologetic look. Peeta’s eyes find mine, cold again, but not in the distant way I’ve noticed lately.

 

“I think we need to talk,” he says. “Follow me.”

 

I scramble up the steps after Peeta, tripping over the last one in my haste, and almost fall flat on my face. Thankfully my hands and knees catch me before I can do any real damage right before making an appearance in a wedding.

 

“Are you okay?” Peeta says as he bends down to help me up. His hands around my middle are the most welcome touch I’ve felt since we landed on the sidewalk a few days ago. I just wish it were for a different reason.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. ” I begin dusting imaginary dirt off my knees to avoid looking him in the face.

 

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks. He seems more annoyed than concerned.

 

“Not enough,” I reply. Before things can get any weirder, or my heart can beat any faster, I speak up. “You wanted to talk to me?”

 

“We probably need to go some place more private.” My stomach bottoms out at his suggestion. This must be bad. He’s gotten back together with Cassie and now that he thinks I’m moving back he needs to set up boundaries for us. God, it’s going to be torture living here again. If I come back I’ll need every second until June to prepare for it.

 

“Yeah, uh, okay. Where to?” I say, more breathless than I should be. Nerves suck.

 

“My place or yours? Either of those work for you?” They’re both within equal distance of here.

 

“Mom should be asleep by now, so my house is fine. Meet you there?” We both brought our cars and it’s too cold to walk. Driving together would just be awkward, and what if one of us wanted to go home after? Or stay home in my case. He nods and I follow him out the front door.

 

Minutes later we’re walking up to my porch and I’m letting us inside. “You sure you don’t want to climb up the tree to my bedroom window like you used to?” I tease him to lighten the heaviness I feel between us. A nostalgic grin crosses his lips and I wonder if he still tastes like mint and yeast.

 

“I wish,” is his reply. I’m not sure what he means exactly. Does he wish he could right now? Or does he wish things had happened differently? He gives no further explanation, and follows me into the kitchen.

 

“You want something to drink?” I ask.

 

“No thanks,” he politely declines my offer as he takes a seat the kitchen table. I grab a glass for myself and fill it up. I may need a distraction and drinking enough water to make myself have to pee soon seems like a grand idea.

 

I join him at the table, speaking first. “Prim asked me this afternoon if I’d be willing to move back and help take care of Mom after she gets married,” I explain, remembering the distressed look on his face from earlier when he first heard the news. “I haven’t decided yet. And it wouldn’t be until after I finish this school year, but… if I do it, I would like for us to be able to get along. This is a small town. We’re going to see each other. It’s inevitable. I don’t want one of us to feel like we have to avoid the other one, or miss out on hanging out with our friends because it’s uncomfortable. I want us to find a way to be at peace with each other.” I really would like to find a way for us to be more than at peace with each other. Peeta was always my undoing. And sitting in front of him now, with my hands itching to comb through his hair and my lips wanting to taste his skin, I wonder what I was thinking four years ago when I left. It’s beyond me now.

 

Peeta studies his hands as his interlocked fingers flex up and down. He seems so nervous I’m not even sure if he heard what I said just now.

 

“I’ve been thinking, and you’re not the only one responsible for what happened between us.” He folds his arms on top of the table and his crystalline blue eyes land on mine for the first time since I sat down. He begins to trace the scratches on the table’s wooden top after breaking our quick connection. A few seconds of silence go by and I cover his hand with mine to get him to look at me again. He tenses and stills but doesn’t pull away, and his eyes slowly raise to mine as he waits for a response.

 

“I’m listening.”

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t crucify me in a review! I know I said they would talk this chapter, but I have a super busy weekend and I won’t get to write much, so I though since I had enough for an update I would go ahead and post. I’m already 1,000 words into the next chapter, so if I get some free time I will definitely post as soon as Burky looks it over. BTW - thanks to her again for beta-ing! She’s helped me avoid a few mistakes that would kill the story! Love to hear your thoughts on this one - did you pick up on Peeta’s jealousy? Did it upset you when Cassie called and he left the room? What do you think of Gale in this story? Until next time ~ Pbg
> 
> Special note to muh girlz Loueze and NAI - I tried so hard to let her have fun but I just wasn’t feeling it here. The next chapter will take a load off of both of them and she’ll let loose (as much as Katniss can) after that. :)


	12. I've Forgotten How It Felt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer update than normal, but you’ve been waiting for two weeks so hopefully this makes you happy. If all goes as planned, the next update will be everything that’s left! (Notes at the end for more info) Thank you to Burkygirl, who pre-read, then betaed, then read more when I added to it. All while she was packing for spring break vacay.

 

 

As we sit here alone in my kitchen, it’s obvious Peeta’s having a hard time saying whatever it is that’s been on his mind. I’m not sure if he does it subconsciously or on purpose, but his hand turns over in mine so that our palms are touching. He closes his fingers around mine, and it feels _right._

 

“You can tell me,” I say encouragingly, noting how he chews his bottom lip and his eyes are worried. The way he’s acting is making me just as nervous as he is, and I hope whatever it is isn’t as bad as what he’s projecting it to be.

 

“My mother said you would say no,” he says. It’s a cryptic confession, and leaves me no closer to understanding him than I was before he said anything at all.

 

“What do you mean? She said I would say no about what?” My grip tightens its hold on his hand. I hope it’s as grounding to him as his touch is to me.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked you. At least not so soon.” Still not a direct answer to my questions, but I think I know what he’s referencing.

 

“She told you I would say no about getting married?” Peeta nods his head, and the look on his face is reflected in every part of his posture - the way his shoulders slump forward and his head hangs down. He looks defeated and boyish, and my heart breaks for him. If he asked me to marry him again right now I’d say yes just to put some joy in his expression. It would put some in mine, too.

 

“She never loved me,” he says. “Not like she loved Rye, at least.” It wasn’t commonly known around town how Peeta was treated at home, but our friends knew because we were all so close. Delores Mellark’s pregnancies had been difficult. The second one, Peeta, resulted in a complete hysterectomy. Not only had Mrs. Mellark wanted a baby girl, but the baby boy she _did_ have ruined her chances of it ever happening naturally. She never physically abused him, but the verbal attacks and retraction of support from her weighed on Peeta as if she had. It was almost worse in my opinion. Physical abuse would leave bruises, marks, scars; evidence that someone needs help. It’s much easier to hide emotional wounds and psychological damage. Peeta’s always seemed so strong, though.

 

“Peeta, I’m sure your mother loves you,” I tell him, but if a twenty-eight year old man doesn’t believe that his mom cares about him by now, my weak reassurance probably won’t do much to convince him. I try to direct him back to the reason we’re here. “Why didn’t she think I would say yes?”

 

“Back when your dad left, and you - you kind of pulled away from everyone. I tried to keep coming around. I wanted to help you. I didn’t want to lose our friendship, but even I could tell you weren’t the same.”

 

“You know I had to take care of Prim. I had to work and go to school-”

 

“I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason to do what you did, Katniss,” he calmly interrupts my defense. “My mom knew how I felt about you. I never said anything to her but apparently it’s not hard to see,” he laughs weakly, but my mind latches on to his use of the present tense instead of past. Surely that’s a mistake. “She always hated that we were friends. She would tell me I wasn’t good enough for a girl like you. She admired you for stepping up like you did for your family, you know?” I didn’t know actually. Mrs. Mellark wasn’t known for her people skills, and any regard she had for me must have been from afar.

 

“I admired you for it, too,” Peeta says with a nervous reserve, as though this is the first time he’s paid me a compliment. “When things settled after graduation and we started seeing each other, she told me there was no way I had a chance at anything lasting with you. That you were just using me as a replacement for affection in your life, since your dad wasn’t around anymore.” All I can think is how Mr. Mellark ended up with a real peach. I knew Peeta’s mother was unsupportive, but I had no idea she was downright malicious. I’m annoyed that he has never confided this in me before.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“You mean why didn’t I repeatedly bring up the fact that your father was gone and that I’ve been in love with you since middle school? Telling you the awful things my mother said would have just been opening a whole can of worms neither of us were prepared to deal with at the time.” When he says it that way, I can see why he wouldn’t.

 

“I didn’t believe her, of course,” Peeta continues without waiting for a reply. "Every year that rolled by and we were still together, and happy, or I was at least-”

 

“I was happy, Peeta.” I interrupt. I can’t allow him to doubt that. “Being with you always made me happy.” A ghost of a smile flits across his lips, then disappears. “I saw it as proof that she was completely wrong about us, but then-” a derisive grunt escapes his lips and his reminiscent mood changes immediately. “Then she started telling _me_ I was wasting _your_ time. I was going to ruin your life the same way I ruined hers. She just always made me feel useless and unimportant. But you - you always made me feel the exact opposite. I felt…” he pauses to reach for the right word before settling on one. “Worthy.”

 

My skin prickles on my arm and spreads a path across my body and down to my toes when I realize he has removed his hand from mine, and with his fingertip draws lazy circles onto my wrist. I can’t tell if he’s doing it absentmindedly or if he’s trying to make me putty in those perfectly calloused baker’s hands, but it’s a touch I’ve missed. Even with everything between us, I can’t deny how he makes me feel. That alone doesn’t fix anything, though.

 

“Hearing her constantly tear me down got so old, and I was sure you loved me enough that I could change your mind.” Peeta’s delicate touch evaporates as he sits back in the chair, creating a tortuous space between us. His gaze rakes over my features, flitting from one place to the next - eyes, neck, cheek, hair, shoulder, arm. Finally resting on the hand he left lonely and uncovered on the table.

 

I don’t know what to say to him. I can’t tell him I did love him enough to marry him because, whether the feeling of devotion was there or not, I proved otherwise. To admit that I didn’t, or don’t, love him is also wrong. It doesn’t add up in my head, and I’m certain it would make even less sense coming out of my mouth, so I refocus the conversation. The reason why we’re here. “How does any of this make you even partially responsible for my leaving?”

 

His eyes raise to meet mine, then fall quickly away as he releases a deep breath. “She told me if I was so sure of us, that I should just risk it all and get on with it already. I was so tired Katniss,” he explains, laying his forehead down on the table. His voice is muffled when he speaks again. “It was years of fighting off the negativity and constant criticism. Nothing I ever did was good enough.” He lifts his chin to rest it on the table and looks at me pleadingly. Silence fills the air as I piece together what I think he’s saying. He sits up and folds his arms on the table before he says, “But I knew _she_ respected you. I knew _I_ loved you, and I wanted to prove her wrong. Show her that I was wanted by someone. And then, when you freaked out and said no, it was like it validated everything she’d ever said about me. I knew I messed up big time, but I didn’t think you’d leave and stay gone for so long.”

 

Peeta falls silent. It’s almost as though confessing the secret he’s been holding onto for years has exhausted him. My mind is spinning so fast that I feel disoriented. But, if I could speak, I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. His mother pressured him into asking me to marry him? Did I understand that right?

 

But he used the word ‘love’ to describe the way he feels about me more than once. Did he mean to? Does he still? Surely not. It’s been too long, and he’s moved on with another girl.

 

“Does Cassie know you’re talking to me?” I ask before I can think better of it, remembering that she’s still part of this. He’s spoken to her very recently, although he has no idea that I saw her picture on his phone. He scrunches his nose and cocks his head to the side before asking, “Why do you ask?”

 

I open my mouth to speak and then close it quickly, realizing I have no idea why I asked. Her name just popped into my head and out of my mouth. I have to say something, though. If I wait too long it’ll look like I’m asking about his relationship with her. I don’t want him to think that I think we should get back together, but I don’t want him to think I don’t want to either in case he does. But of course he wouldn’t. I’ve hurt him too badly. I decide to say, “I guess I just wonder what she thinks of all this. I mean, obviously she’s upset we were together once, but… the way you’re talking about me now, it’s like-” I look down and absently pick at my unmanicured nail beds, searching for a delicate way to say it. But I don’t find one. “Like you still have feelings for me.”

 

I can’t bear to look up. I don’t want to see rejection, but part of me still fears acceptance, too. Probably just out of habit. I hear Peeta sigh and from the corner of my eye I see his arm rest on the table and his body lean in. “Katniss, I don’t think I’ll ever not feel something for you. You were my first _everything_. It’s not easy to forget someone like you. The most difficult thing I’ve had to do is move on without you. But I’m not sure what’s going on with Cassie. She left upset, told me to call when I have things figured out. We haven’t really spoken at length about our relationship and it’s not something I want to talk about here. With you. I want to talk about us.”

 

And there it is again. _Us._ What about us? I want to shout it out, sleeping mother be damned. What is he trying to accomplish by using those terms other than making my entire being, body, spirit and soul, crave him? He’s everything I want right now and nothing I have. I want to blame him for giving in to his wretched mother. I want to blame him for being weak and allowing her to manipulate me through the control she exercised over him. Until now I’ve only been mad at myself. Only blamed _me._

 

Suddenly, the things he admitted earlier, the things he’s inadvertently admitting now, rise to the fringe and bring with it a surge of aggravation I am helpless to stop. I look right at him so he can feel my words. “Did you even want to marry me?” Either my tone or my question catches Peeta off guard, probably both, and he recoils. He looks hurt, but I don’t give him much time to answer before I ask another. “Or did you just want to prove to your mother wrong?” His face turns to stone, but I want to know more and until he answers me I will keep asking. “What would you have done had I said yes?”

 

“I would have fallen to my knees and kissed your feet!” he says indignantly, slamming his fist on the table and startling me, scattering my barrage of questions like ash. A beat of silence descends, and I swallow the bitter pill of his words. “I would been have the happiest man on the planet! I didn’t even need a wedding. We could have done everything your way, _including_ waiting as long as you needed. I wasn’t in a rush, Katniss. I just wanted my ring on your finger and to know you wanted the same one day.”

 

It was real. I knew it was, but I had to lay to rest the shred of doubt that had been nagging at me since he mentioned his mother. I lower my eyes to where my hands are folded in my lap and compose myself with a deep breath, deliberately squeezing my eyelids together before I say anymore. I don’t want to fight. I just want answers so we can put all this confusion and anger behind us. “How could you let her do that? ” I raise my eyes to meet his. The tenderness in his eyes doesn’t match the irritation in his voice when he responds.  

 

“Katniss, my mother didn’t influence me any more than your father influenced you.” The truth is a brutal kick in the gut. I want to say he’s not being not fair and stay pissed at him. I really do. But it’s impossible not to see it when he says it that way. We’ve both let our slacker parents control too much of how we feel and influence what we do. What we’ve _done_.

 

“Do you know how hard it was to move on?” I ask, reliving the nightmare of leaving and being without him in my head. I was so sure it was the right thing when I decided on it years ago. His expression mirrors what I’m feeling. Of course he knows. He probably knows it better than me. “I thought I had to leave. For you to be happy. For me to do what I thought would make me happy.” I don’t give voice to the other thoughts in my head. That I wish every day he hadn’t asked. And I wish more than anything that I had just stayed.

 

Peeta’s head dips down and then back up. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it and sighing. The sound is regretful. “We can’t change the past, Katniss. I’ve wished and prayed for it enough that it would have happened by now if it were going to.”

 

* * *

 

 

I let myself into the Hawthorne’s home quietly. Peeta went back to his place after we talked. It’s probably for the best. Both of us need some time to process and come to terms with everything that was said. I decided to go back to Gale’s because it was still somewhat early and the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts.

 

I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off me, now that I’ve finally said what I needed to say and heard him do the same. But the burden of my break-up with Peeta has been taking up real estate on my shoulders for so long, that I don’t feel relief. Instead, I just feel hollow, empty. As though letting go of the guilt means that Peeta is truly gone. It’s real now, and I don’t know where to go from here. Nothing could ever replace him. Nothing will ever be as good in my life without Peeta.

 

The old stairs into Gale’s basement are still as creaky as they ever were, even under my meager weight. Peeta and I have been gone for over an hour, but I’m surprised to find only Prim and Rory still here playing a game of horizontal tonsil hockey on the couch. I start to say get a room, but then think better of it. She is my baby sister and I practically raised her after all. Instead, I decide announce my presence by clearing my throat. I have to do it twice, because apparently you have to be extremely focused to play.

 

They look up at me, standing on the last step with my arms crossed. Rory gets up quickly with a guilty look on his face and pulls Prim to her feet. She plants her hand on his bicep and says, “It’s fine. She’s not going to hurt you and we’re about to be married in two days.” Rory smiles nervously, coughs and excuses himself to get some water.

 

“Can you be less parental with your disapproving looks?” Prim asks when Rory has gone. I fish a beer out of the noisy old refrigerator that’s been down here for as long as I can remember.

 

“Want one?” I ask, ignoring her comment. All too soon it won’t matter anyway.

 

“Sure,” she answers.

 

We fall back into the couch and take a few swigs in silence. It’s probably asking too much to hope that Prim will just drink with me and say nothing.

 

“So how was your talk with Peeta?” Yep. Too much to ask for. I drop my head on the couch. The back of my skull thuds against the wooden frame that’s barely covered by material anymore. I welcome the bit of pain it causes.

 

I roll my head to the side to look at her. “We got some things out in the open. There wasn’t any fighting. I think we can move forward.” I raise my beer up in paltry congratulations to myself and then rest it on my thigh.

 

“Forward to what?” she questions, taking a pull from the bottle. I don’t like where this is going. I need to do something to derail the hounddog that is my sister before tonight gets downright depressing.

 

“How should I know?” I snap. “I just want to sit here and drink a few beers, and relax with my sister before she grows up and gets married. Is that okay with you?” I ask in a tone that tells her she doesn’t have a choice but to agree. She nods, although I’m convinced she’d rather ask me a million questions and write them all down in some headshrinkers notebook. I’m probably the perfect subject for her thesis paper, and from the way this couch is bending my spine I’m really wishing she would have become a chiropractor instead of a psychologist.

 

After we’ve both polished off a second beer, she starts more conversation, but it’s different. Easy. Prim tells me about life in Panem while I’ve been away. We’ve spoken on the phone as much as we could, but only about the need-to-know things like her and Rory, our mother, Prim’s classes, my job. I never knew about Reverend Abernathy’s bad idea to try and raise geese one spring for the children’s Easter program. Somehow they got loose and ended up depositing themselves in the baptismal that Sunday morning, which had taken six hours to fill with fresh water. I hadn’t heard about Gale’s attempt to repatch his roof after a hail storm last year. The ladder fell away and he was stuck on top of his two-story house overnight. I also didn’t know that he’d bought the house from his mother at market price so she would have something to retire on and he could start building equity and getting ready for marriage and family.

 

The conversation shifts to my life in L.A. My fourth grade classroom. My favorite taco place that I hit up at least three times a week on my way home from work. I tell her about my only two friends, Cinna and Johanna, who pretty much force me have a life outside of the classroom.

 

Johanna is the P.E. teacher at our elementary school. If I hadn’t seen her in action with my own eyes, I would never have believed her occupation if I’d met her outside our workplace. She is bold and brash and confident, and everything opposite of me. I was terrified of her for the longest time, but I’d heard through the grapevine that her students adore her and she can be quite the softy. I don’t get to see that side, though. I get called nicknames like ‘Brainless’ and told how pure I am, even though neither are true. She says it’s tough love.

 

Cinna is her roommate who moved out to L.A. from podunk Nebraska to pursue design about the same time as I moved there. He needed a place to crash and she had an extra room for rent at the right time. When we go out the women are always ogling him, flirting with him and trying to get his number, but they have no chance since he prefers men. He has the most amazing style. He can wear a scarf in the summer and make it look like everyone else should be doing it, too, even though it’s hot as Hades.

 

After my fourth beer and Prim’s third, she starts to chatter animatedly about what she wants for her future. The number of kids, the right timing for her first pregnancy, the office she wants to work out of, the house they’re looking at buying. I have no answer for any of that when she asks me. Her happy chatter about her plans for the future are causing a rising bitterness inside me towards a certain woman across town. One who cost me all of the things Prim is dreaming about before I even had the chance to figure out whether I wanted them. And now that I know what they are, I can’t have them.

 

“I have an idea,” I say, feeling something wet land on me. The room wobbles when I look down. “Awwwwww,” I drag the word out and smile when I point to my jeans. “My beer landed in the shape of Peeta’s faaaaaaace.” It’s really funny to me. I’ve never seen his likeness in beer before. “Should I take a picture of it and send it to him?” Prim giggles and points to a smaller splotch of wetness near beer-Peeta’s head.

 

“And looooooook!” she slurs happily as she leans over. “It’s your baby! Hi baby Peeta! It’s Aunty Prim…” I start laughing as Prim goes on and on in her baby-talk voice to the smidge of alcohol on my jeans. It’s utterly ridiculous, but I want to laugh so bad that I just go along with it. We laugh, spill more beer, this time on purpose and on Prim, trying to find Rory’s likeness, but all we really see is a foot. Or a maxi pad. We’re not sure.

 

“You and Peeta would have the most adoooorable babies,” Prim says as the laughing dies and she sits back, closing her eyes.

 

“Anyone would have adorable babies with Peeta,” I admit. “He’s adorable. No, he’s _hot_. Hot babies shouldn’t exist so technically nobody should have babies with Peeta,” I say, and we both giggle. It’s cute when Prim does it, but God I hate that sound when it comes out of me.

 

“Do you wish it would happen?” Prim asks, and I feel we’re turning that corner from bubbly, fun drunk to depressing, insecure drunk. I’ve been told that it’s not too pretty on me.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for that now.” I brush off her question, wanting to stay on the happy side of drunk. Suddenly remembering my idea from earlier I sit upright and snap my fingers in the air. My thumb and middle finger miss each other, but I don’t care. “Hey, you wanna help me get some revenge?”

 

Prim looks at me like i’ve grown an extra head, but I don’t want to explain. I just want to do. “Do you trust me?” I can’t tell if the room is spinning or if she’s trying to shake and nod her head at the same time. It doesn’t matter. She owes me for that whole getting-me-to-move-home bit with Rory. “Let’s go.” I decisively pull her off the couch and up the stairs with me. I grab a few rolls of toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom and smirk at Prim’s befuddled expression.

 

“Katniss, I’m not teepeeing someone’s yard. I’m a grown woman about to get married. Not some bored teenager.” I look her straight in the eyes and quickly tell her who and why.

 

“I’m in,” she says defiantly and snatches a couple of rolls of toilet paper from my arms. “Nobody messes with my sister.” I follow her out the front door and the cold that hits me is welcome. It was stuffy and warm in the house. We forget our coats, our hats, and gloves and basically anything that would keep us warm. But I feel fine. We must be having a warm streak for December.

 

The Mellark’s house is only two streets over, and we make it there fairly quickly. I set two rolls in the crook of a tree, give Prim one and I take the other. We start with the smaller trees. They don’t take long, and once they’re done we tackle the two big oaks.

 

I look straight up and pitch one of the rolls high into the oak tree nearest the house, trying to catch a branch but they’re so tall I just end up falling on my ass in the snow. The roll of paper hits the roof instead, then lands a few feet away from me. A snort of amusement leaves my mouth followed by even louder laughter. Prim sees me and, looking nervous, runs over to pick up the paper, then me. She’s pulling on me to get up, but my body just doesn’t want to move. That is, until the porch light flickers on and the front door opens.

 

I do not expect Peeta to walk out onto the porch, but there he is. He surveys what’s going on, then bounds down the steps and over to us looking irritated. I don’t know why. It’s not his house anymore and after what his mother did to us, she deserves it. She probably wouldn’t have a clue that she’d been papered until late spring anyway, since everything out here is covered in white. I’d be long gone and she’d be none the wiser.

 

“Katniss, what are you doing?” Prim lets go of me and steps back as Peeta yanks me up by my arms. I stumble but he catches me, then leans in to take a whiff. “Jesus, Katniss are you _drunk_?” He abruptly turns me around like a child and begins smacking my ass to dust off the snow. Normally this would be fun, but now it just hurts. I feel like I’m being spanked, and not in the good way.

 

“You’re skin is ice cold,” he chides. “Where is your jacket? Your hat? _Gloves_?” His eyes search my face and his hands snugly grip my arms. “Did you remember to bring anything with you when you left to keep you from getting frostbite and hypothermia?”

 

“I’m... sorry?” I offer weakly, and my attempt to keep another laugh from escaping goes awry.

 

He sighs and looks disapprovingly at me, then Prim. He tells her to get in the car. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it in the driveway earlier. My head snaps in Peeta’s direction when I feel something heavy drape around my shoulders. It’s his coat and it’s warm and smells heavenly, just like Peeta. One of his hands grabs my arm gently and the other reaches around my back as he guides me to his car, opens the passenger door and helps me inside. I pull the coat around me as I begin to feel colder by the second. By the time we’ve dropped Prim back at Rory’s and Peeta drives me home, I’m a mess of chattering teeth and shivering limbs.

 

Peeta helps me out of the car, into the house and up the stairs to my room. I watch with a warm, familiar feeling in my belly as he pulls the covers down and fixes my pillows just right. He guides me to the bed, and when I sit he pulls off my boots off, placing them neatly by the nightstand. “You’re freezing, Katniss,” he tells me. “What were you thinking? Going out into sub-freezing temperatures underdressed like that?” His scolding should have upset me, but I can hear the underlying concern there.

 

“I’m mad at your mother,” I say as I lay back onto the pillow and curl up on my side, hugging my trembling body. Peeta shakes his head slightly as he pulls the covers up and tucks them around me, then disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running and moments later he returns with the hot water bottle I’ve kept stored in the cabinet for years. He pulls the blanket up and situates it under my numb feet.

 

“Goodnight, Katniss,” he says, as he turns to leave. I reach from under the covers, faster than I should be able to in my state, and grab his forearm before he can walk away. He stops and turns his head back to look at me with questioning blue eyes that pierce my heart. I can’t stop the longing I feel from expressing itself.

 

“Peeta, I’ve missed you. So much. Will you stay with me?” My voice sounds small and fearful to my ears, but I want Peeta to stay with me more than I want to hate myself for the way I sound. My stomach drops at the look on his face.

 

“I can’t, Katniss,” he says softly, his voice cracking when he says my name, his eyes locked on where my hand holds onto his arm. When he looks up at me I know it’s time to let go, and so I do.  

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing drunk people. :) What stupid things can I write about that people wouldn’t normally do unless alcohol is involved?? Loads of fun there.
> 
> I want to get this story finished, but it’s got a few more chapters to go. My plan is to take about 2-3 weeks, write the entire rest of the story and post it all at once. Any objections? Also, would love to know what you thought of this one. It took a while because I needed to get it just right, and it has been giving me indigestion. Or maybe that’s the pizza with extra robust sauce I’ve been ordering… anywho, talk to me. Pbg.


	13. Before The World Fell At Our Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get started, I just want to say THANK YOU (so much) to the incomparable Burkygirl. This chapter was a mess of Everlark emotions, dotted with my stress over screwing it all up. But she did what she always does and scratched through the junk, rearranged pieces, added invaluable suggestions, then ended it all with encouragement. You should actually be leaving her comments and thanks for this one. And if you’re not following her on tumblr, do it! Same url. :) I also got back on tumblr (same url) if you’re interested. Come chat with us there! We are cooking up a fantabulous collaborative fic you won’t want to miss.

Before you get started, I just want to say THANK YOU (so much) to the incomparable Burkygirl. This chapter was a mess of Everlark emotions, dotted with my stress over screwing it all up. But she did what she always does and scratched through the junk, rearranged pieces, added invaluable suggestions, then ended it all with encouragement. You should actually be leaving her comments and thanks for this one. And if you’re not following her on tumblr, do it! Same url. :)  I also got back on tumblr (same url) if you’re interested. Come chat with us there! We are cooking up a fantabulous collaborative fic you won’t want to miss.

 

Before The World Fell at Our Feet 

* * *

 

My bedroom window is partially open and I can hear the soft smash of snow beneath someone’s boots outside. The boards on the porch squeak and groan as the person makes their way up the wooden steps. I rub my bleary eyes and force my lids to separate, letting in slivers of sunlight and a pounding headache. My hand flies to my head, trying to rub away the pain.

 

The doorbell rings and I slide out from under the covers. Whoever it is can wait. I need three aspirin and a huge bottle of water to wash away this nasty cotton mouth. As I paw through the bathroom cabinets in search of the little white bottle that will deliver my salvation, I vaguely remember Peeta being in my room last night.

 

The doorbell rings again, bouncing in between my ears like a pinball at top speed. I groan out an angry reply, even though I know they can’t hear me. I need some relief for my aching head. I should never drink more than a couple of beers, but Cinna wasn’t here to monitor my alcohol intake, like he usually does. Johanna, on the other hand, would rather give me a long straw to a deep tank full of the stuff, getting me drunk enough to dance on tables and say yes to any man that asks for a spin around the room. If I’m not loosened up, they don’t get more than a scowl from me.

 

After swallowing the pills and slurping some water from the faucet, I head down the stairs, sounding less like the light-on-its-feet gazelle I’m known for and more like a buffalo trodding down them.

 

“Mom?” I call out as I walk through the kitchen and into the living room. Her ‘scarf’ lies in a giant puddle on the floor. That thing is going to be long enough to wrap around the Earth and keep everyone on the planet warm. Her knitting needles rest on the seat of the chair.

 

“Mom?” I ask again, and then I hear her voice in the front entry.

 

“Hello, Evelyn, it’s been a long time,” says a woman’s voice.

 

“Do I know you?” My mother’s voice sounds strangled and confused. I rush into the entryway to find a woman with big, brown doe eyes and glossy, full, pink lips. She’s slightly taller than me. Her cheeks are ruddy from the cold, or maybe too much blush, and she’s dressed like Jackie Kennedy in a black wool coat buttoned up to her neck. Dainty black gloves cover the skin of her hands, and simple, red pumps buckle around the ankle. I can see a red collar peeking out from under the coat, and a black pillbox hat sits cocked to the side on her head.

 

My mother is watching her and wringing her fingers and an uneasy feeling washes over me. “I’ve got it Mom,” I say gently. “You go on back to your scarf.” My mother looks at me in relief  and I step out onto the porch barefoot, closing the door behind me.

 

The woman appears as though she’s been crying, and when she sniffles and dabs her nose with a tissue, I’m sure of it. “Can I help you?” I ask cautiously. I’ve never been good at tears with anyone but Prim, and even that is up for debate.  

 

I look at her suspiciously. Something about this woman was making my mother very nervous. The lump in my chest is slowly making its way to my throat. I’m becoming increasingly more anxious about who this woman is and what she wants. She shifts on her feet, looking nervous and heartbroken. I can tell because I’ve seen that look in the mirror one too many times.

 

“Are you - are you Katniss?” Now I’m really getting freaked out. She knows my mother, my name, and where I live, but I have no idea who she is. I can’t tell if my throat is suddenly on fire because of the cottonmouth, the cold, dry air, or the dread creeping over me. I nod my head, not trusting my voice, while I try not to cut my eyes at her menacingly. Then I remember that Prim was with me last night. That she was drunk as well.

 

“Oh my God! Is it Prim? Is she okay?” I blurt out, feeling the smothering weight of the news before it’s been delivered.

 

“Is that your sister?” Her question doesn’t alleviate my fears and I grab her shoulders and give her a shake. I am in no mood to beat around the bush.

 

“Tell me!” She tries to release herself from my desperate clutches. When I let her go, she steps back and dusts off her arms as though I’ve left dirty smudges behind before she looks at me again.

 

“No! No, she’s... fine. I guess.” The way she says it makes me think this visit has nothing to do with my sister. “It’s not a-about… Prim.” My hand covers my heart as a huge sigh leaves my chest. Thank the heavens! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Prim. Focusing my eyes back on the stranger, I plead with her to go on.

 

“Well? What is it?”

 

“It’s about your-” she swallows, “your Father.” Her voice is breathy, as if she’s just run a mile, and she may as well have punched me in the gut, because the outdoors has suddenly become an uninhabitable breathing space. I need a friggin oxygen tank. Stat.

 

“What did you say?” my voice croaks as I manage to get the words out.

 

“Can I come in?” she asks, rubbing her hands together. “It’s really cold and we need to talk.”

 

I can’t swallow. I can barely breathe. I shake my head. Whatever she has to tell me can’t be good and I don’t want my mother to hear it. “Just say it.” My voice is a scratch, an abrasion in the stillness around us.

 

“There’s no easy way to say this, Katniss.” I hate the way the way my name sounds on her tongue, like she pities me. Like she’s sorry for what she’s about to tell me. It’s motherly and tender, and like fingernails on a chalkboard.

 

“Your Father p-passed away,” she laments, choking on her last word.

 

No. _No!_ I want to scream at her to take it back but I can’t find my voice. The air entering and leaving my body so rapidly is making my chest hurt. My lungs are blazing like wild fire and my headache has turned to pure evil as it thumps against my skull in its mission to cripple me. I push on both sides of my head to make it stop. _Make it stop!_

 

This can’t be happening. He hasn’t been around in years, but the idea of my Father still being alive and well on this earth was something I could count on, no matter how much anger I carried towards him. And now he’s just… _gone_? How is that even possible?

 

The corner of the door jam presses into my back as I sink to the ground when my legs become too weak to stay upright. She keeps talking, her words becoming hurried as though getting it all out quickly will ease the trauma. I only catch bits and pieces. Something about a month ago, a bridge and a semi, and how she knows this must be hard for me. I think I hear something about where he’s buried and if I ever want to visit his grave, but the rest sounds like it’s all under water, muffled and indiscernible.

 

A scream bubbles up from deep within, lodging in my throat, but I can’t let it out. Mother will hear, and she’d be frightened. The whole neighborhood would probably hear and come running. I’m trying to think of what to do, what to say, when I hear his voice. The one that makes me feel warm and safe. The one attached to the arms I want around me at night.

 

“Katniss?” He appears on the porch, watching me intently, elbows on my knees and hands tugging at my hair. He looks at the other person in this triangle we’ve created with our bodies.

 

“Who are you?” He asks the question I’m not brave enough to ask. I already have an idea of who she is and how she knew my father. I don’t know why I care to torture myself with her name.

 

“Marie. My name is Marie,” she says slowly.

 

“Peeta?” I don’t even recognize my own voice I sound so weak. I raise my arms to him, wanting him to pick me up and hold me like a small child. He’s kneeling in front of me instantly. His hands cup my cheeks and mine grab his wrists like a lifeline. If what this woman told me is true, I need him more now than I ever have.

 

“I- I’m sorry,” she says again, stepping back and wringing her hands. She may sound sincere, but I don’t register anything of that. My body is shivering from the cold or the news, I don’t know which, and Peeta’s head snaps around to Marie.

 

“What did you say to her?” He barks, turning back to me and searching my face with eyes full of concern.

 

“They needed to know-” He doesn’t wait for her to finish. He scoops me up and helps me into the house, slamming the front door behind him with a foot. All of this has a familiar feel to it - him carrying me down the hallway and up to my room. Anger is radiating off his body in waves. I briefly wonder what I did last night, but the shadow of my father’s death is overpowering everything else. Even though I’d love nothing more than to focus on anything but what I’ve just heard.

 

I cling to Peeta, my arms around his neck and my face buried in his shoulder. I’m quiet, though everything in me wants to scream so loud I’ll wake the dead. Wake my father so I can tell him what a horrible thing he did. How it felt and what it did to all of us. Here, safe in Peeta’s arms, I think I can finally fall apart. He’ll help me put myself back together.

 

A whining sob escapes my lungs as I think about a part of my life that’s truly over. Never seeing my father again - any remorse on his face, or adoration in his eyes. All I ever wanted was for Daddy to come home and say it was all a mistake, and that he’s sorry - _so_ sorry - for what he did. Maybe we could have salvaged something - some piece of the father/daughter bond that made my world go ‘round a decade ago. It was never likely to happen, but the realization that it never will triggers a wail that I stifle into Peeta’s shirt. He sits down on my bed. He situates his back to my headboard and cradles me in his lap. Whispers of ‘hey’ and ‘ssshhh’ mix with my gasping sobs. I need more air than my lungs can hold.

 

Peeta doesn’t ask me anything. Nothing. All he does is hold me and wipe the tears that run freely down my face.

 

 

I am loathe to do it, but I unwind my arms from Peeta’s neck and slide off his lap. I’m sure I’ve spent hours crying and wiping strange body fluids all over his shirt. He doesn’t need me using up all of his time and sobbing all over him.

 

As I rise, his hand drags from my hip where he was holding me, across my stomach, to my elbow and down my arm. I can feel his callouses as he twines our fingers and grips my hand. When I look back at him I can see all the worry that I feel reflected in his eyes. I stare blankly, unable to think or form any words.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he says quietly. I shake my head, and immediately I can sense his disappointment as his shoulders sag and he looks down. It must be contagious because I feel it acutely when he releases my hand and stands up.

 

I need to thank him. Make him see that I appreciate him. I can feel him slipping away again. “Peeta, you’ve helped me so much. Just showing up when you did, and staying with me.” He nods his head but says nothing. Keeping his gaze down, his hand slips into his pocket.. There’s a hardness etched across his lips and his brow.

 

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. Between the cottonmouth and the crying, I’ve nearly lost my voice. “I know I’ve been a burden to you since I’ve been home.”

 

His eyes lock onto mine in a stare so intense I burn from head to toe. “Is that what you think? That you’re a burden to me?” He plops back down on the bed, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen him. “Katniss, nothing you’ve ever done has made me feel that way. All I’ve ever wanted for us was to be able to trust each other. To have no secrets between us. I want to help you when you’re hurting, and I want to trust you with _my_ pain.” It’s small, and maybe not meant for me to see, but he shakes his head. “I’m not sure it would have ever worked,” he says under his breath, like he’s finally letting go of something he’s held onto for so long.

 

Peeta’s lips form a tight smile and the mattress squeaks at the loss of his weight. “If you decide you want to talk.” He leaves the sentence open-ended, striding dejectedly for the door. My heart is beating like a bass drum. My mind screams at me not to let him walk away.

 

“He’s gone.” The words are a painful blip on the timeline of my life, and out of my mouth before I have time to process how much I’m actually going to tell him. He pauses at the door, hand on the knob, and turns his head toward me. Perhaps he’s waiting to see if I’m actually going to let him in this time. He wants it all. But I’ve kept everything locked up inside for so long that I’m not sure I know how to do it. Do I tell him everything? What about Prim? What about my _Mother_? Will this send her back to mental oblivion, or possibly even worse? What if she becomes suicidal?

 

I know Peeta will find out eventually, but is telling him first somehow betraying my family? There are so many questions and not enough answers. Very few answers, in fact. If it earns his trust again, and clears his face of the misery that’s gutting me like a fish right now, I think it’s worth it for him to be the one I run to. It’s what he’s always wanted. For me to trust him with my burdens. The chance to share his troubles with me. And the truth, scribbled plain as day on my heart, is  that it’s what I want, too. And I finally let him in.

 

“She said that my Father died.” I feel a single tear run down my cheek and drip onto my hand. It’s followed by another, and another, making quick work of rewetting my dry, sticky cheeks.

 

“Oh, Katniss, I’m so sorry.” I’m quickly back in his embrace. One hand rubs the back of my head while the other wraps protectively around my back, our chests pressed together. I hug him back fiercely. Can we just stay like this forever?

 

“Who was she?” he asks.

 

“I, I think she was the one.” He pulls back to look at me, and I know he understands what I mean.

 

“I’ll be right back.” He’s out of my arms before I can argue that I really just want him to stay. I hear thudding on the steps and the groan of the front door. My heart drops as it closes quickly, and I think he must have gone home. But then I hear three heavy steps on the stairs and Peeta is back in front of me. He must have taken them four at a time.

 

“She’s not out there,” he says, and I realize he must have gone to see if she stayed. “What exactly did she tell you?”

 

“I couldn’t understand it all, it happened so fast. Something about an accident with a semi that knocked his car off,” I gulp down a breath before I say it out loud, “off a bridge.” Hearing it again brings a fresh wave of sadness and images I’ve stored away of the man who shattered my world flash across my mind. Kind eyes, a hearty laugh, a deep, soothing voice.

 

Peeta begins to rub my arms from shoulder to elbow and back again, hushing me sweetly.

“Hey,” he gets my full attention, running his warm hands past my shoulders and onto my neck, holding my gaze in place and looking pointedly at me. “We will figure this out, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

 

It’s the best news I’ve heard all day, not that there’s much competition for good news at this point. I don’t know how I find the strength to smile, but Peeta brings it out in me like no one else.

 

We wrap our arms around each other again in a crushing hug. I want to show him how thankful I am, and I need to feel his protection and comfort.

 

I release Peeta from the hug and pull him to the bed, sitting down. He sits next to me, our hands finding each other, fingers locking. “Should I tell Prim? It’s less than 48 hours until the wedding.” I pause to wipe some tears that have fallen before brokenly admitting to Peeta that I have no idea what to do.

 

“If you were in her situation, would you want to know?” he asks these things so easily, but the answer is much more difficult to grasp. Of course I would want to know, but would I want to know right before my wedding?

 

“Then it wouldn’t be the happiest day of her life,” I reply, wiping more silent tears with the back of my hand.

 

“So when do you plan to tell her?” I honestly have no answer for that.

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“But you do plan on telling her?” He seems skeptical. As if he thinks I may bury it deep down under lock and key. I suppose it’s not an unreasonable conclusion on his part, but it still stings.

 

“Of course,” I confirm, and he nods his head. “There just doesn’t seem to be a good time, you know?” He nods again in understanding. I sense his thumb rubbing my palm ever so softly, like a butterfly’s wing batting against my skin. “If I tell her before the wedding, that’ll ruin her big day. If I tell her after it will ruin her honeymoon.”I

 

Peeta adds to my thoughts. “If you tell her after she gets back she could be upset with you for keeping it from her for so long.” Life is one big toilet sucking me down it’s swirling drain and depositing me in a crap load of, well… _crap._ Hot, stinking, disgusting, cockroach-laden crap.

 

“Why does my life feel like it just keeps getting worse? Will it ever be good again?” I sniffle and cover my face as the tears start to flow freely again. Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. It’s nice to lean my head on his broad, muscled chest again.  

 

“Of course it can be good again, Katniss. Life doesn’t pick and choose favorites, and then unleash hell on everyone else. Sometimes things go our way, and sometimes they don’t. You can’t control what other people do. You can only control what _you_ do.” He emphasizes the word ‘you’ with a finger on my chin, and he angles my face up so that our eyes meet. He’s so close, and I can smell mint on his breath, probably from his toothpaste. I’m not thinking about kissing him. My mind is too preoccupied for that. If this were any other situation, I might give in. But I know how my body responds to his nearness and his touches, so I straighten and clear my throat, his hand dropping to his leg as he finishes. “And you have control of the rest of your decisions in life.”

 

“How do I know I’ll make the right ones?” It sounds so ridiculous. Who always knows they’re about to make the right or wrong choice? But it’s a question I don’t have the answer to.

 

“The right decisions are the ones that are sometimes the hardest to make, and often we don’t want to follow through. But they’ll bring you the greatest reward.” When he says it, it’s like a light bulb flickers on inside my mind. The hardest part about this is sharing it with the people closest to me. Sharing the vulnerability I so desperately try to hide from everyone. That’s what I need to do. I need to open up to the people I love. The people that love me.

 

I walk into the bathroom and splash cold water onto my face, and survey my blotchy reflection

in the mirror. Walking back out to Peeta still sitting on the edge of my bed, I stand before him, our knees touching. “Will you come with me to tell Prim?”

 

His eyes flicker with some emotion. Gratitude or relief, maybe? I’ve never been good at reading people, and for a second I think he’s going to deny me, but then he stands and slips his hand in mine. “Together?” he asks. I nod my head a few times while I try to think of a way to thank him. But then Peeta’s statement from earlier about taking care of me plays back through my mind, and I know he’s not looking for credit. I give him a sad smile and repeat him.

 

“Together.”

* * *

  

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Peeta asks me as we step out of the Hawthorne’s house into the cold, dry air. Telling Prim was more difficult on me than it seemed to be on her. Not that she wasn’t sad hearing the news. She was tearful for sure. Our father is gone. Forever. There’s no reconciliation that will ever come to that situation, and I’ve realized throughout this day that it’s something I’d hoped for, even though I buried it deeper than a pirate would bury his last bit of treasure.

 

I was touched by Prim’s concern for me. She knew coming face to face with the woman our father chose over his own family was excruciating. She and Rory even suggested a vigil tonight in place of the bachelor and bachelorette festivities, claiming no one would feel like celebrating anyway. I know I wouldn’t. But she has Rory to comfort her, and a wedding and a honeymoon to look forward to, so I’m able to excuse myself to go back home and shower. I’m glad I told her, and I’m so grateful to Peeta for being there with me, despite what’s been between us for so long.

 

“I think I’ll be okay,” I say weakly, hoping he wants to argue with my response. It’s hard to be transparent when I’m so practiced at being closed off.

 

“I don’t mind,” he says, his warm breath rising into the clear sky. He puts his hand on my back, indicating that he’s going to do it anyway, and I light up inside in spite of today’s developments. After all this time he still has that effect on me.

 

We reach my house within minutes. I open the door, step into the house and look back at Peeta, leaving the door open in silent invitation. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his feet are rooted in place.

 

“I’ll see you at the church tonight?” he asks. I don’t know what I was expecting. That he would come in and spend the day with me? That the last four years would somehow dissolve away like sugar in a mug of hot tea? Even though I know he probably shouldn’t stay, I can’t deny my disappointment. I try to paste on an understanding smile, but I’m no actress.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Thank you, Peeta.” He purses his lips into a thin line, and looks down.

 

“You’re welcome, Katniss.” His eyes find mine again briefly before he turns and walks down the path away from my house. I watch him, his head turning slightly to the side, as if he wants to look back, but decides better of it.

 

* * *

 

Reverend Abernathy is kind enough to open up the church for us tonight so my sister, my mother and our friends and neighbors can pay respect to the memory of a man who once meant the world to us. To me. He fell off that pedestal a long time ago, but it’s right to at least honor his life. And since we missed the burial, this is what we can do on such short notice, and before Prim’s wedding.

 

The lights are dimmed low, candles lit at the altar. The first few rows of the church are filled with the people who knew Richard Everdeen and could come on such short notice. I sit in the front, my mother beside me. Prim is next to her with Rory on the other side.

 

I glance behind me and see Peeta sitting one row back and across the aisle with Rye, and their father and mother. Our eyes immediately find each other. He gives me a small, reassuring smile that keeps me grounded during all this discomfort.

 

Gale sits directly behind the Mellarks, with Madge, his mother, Hazelle, and the rest of his siblings. Dr. Aurelius is behind me, as well as a handful of other neighbors.

 

My attention is directed back to the front as Reverend Abernathy begins to say a few words about my father. Prim and I both declined any opportunity to share, and I don’t think anyone is surprised by that. The pastor keeps it simple, honoring life and reminding us all how precious it is. How we never know when our time will be up, and to seize every opportunity to bless others, make ourselves happy, and enjoy the journey.

 

When he closes the service, he motions for me, Prim and Mother to come to the front. We each put out one of the three lit candles, as a symbol of laying him to rest. Mother, doesn’t really know what’s going on but she follows the instructions I give her, which I am grateful for. Her response to finding out that Prim’s and my father has passed is to hug us and tell us she’s sorry for our loss. She doesn’t seem to make the connection that our father was once her husband. That she knew him too and could be grieving with us. It’s probably for the best. Dr Aurelius advised us that trying to explain it to her could cause confusion and unnecessary stress. So we just hug her back and say thank you to her condolences.

 

When we arrive home, our friends and neighbors stop by to visit and say a few words, most of them bringing baked treats or small casseroles. There are a few Mellark’s Bakery boxes that I know I’ll be digging into tomorrow. But I stick to the corner of the kitchen, out of most everyone’s way. Mother went up to get ready for bed, claiming she was tired. I’m exhausted as well, and when people start to make themselves scarce, I say goodnight to Prim, who tells me she and Rory will be staying in her room tonight, then duck out and head upstairs.

 

I take a shower, letting the steam and the hot water rinse away the stress of the day, then throw on leggings and a tank top and sit on my bed, thinking. I’ve just taken a deep, cleansing breath when I hear a knock at my door.

 

“Katniss? Can I come in?” It’s Peeta.

 

“Yes,” I answer, and let him show himself in. He stands by the door, one hand lazily grasping the handle, the other stuffed in his pocket.

 

“Hey,” he says in a soft voice as his eyes drift over me. “I just wanted to let you know that everyone’s gone and the kitchen is cleaned up.”

 

“Thank you.” I can’t hide the surprise in my tone, but I know I shouldn’t be because that’s exactly the kind of thing Peeta would do. Little butterflies of hope flutter awake inside my belly.

 

“It’s no problem. I didn’t mind doing it for you,” he confesses with a shy grin. “Will you be okay?”

 

I want to tell him yes, that I’ll be fine without him. He’s done so much more for me than he needed to. But I can’t lie to him. I won’t be fine without him. So I say nothing, and give him a weak smile as my answer, neither confirming nor denying anything.

 

When he closes the door, I rise from the bed and begin to pull the covers down, but before I get into bed I hear Peeta talking outside my door. Walking soundlessly across the room, I press my ear to the door to make out who is standing outside my door speaking with Peeta. The other person must be whisper-quiet because I can only hear his voice, and vague bits at that.

 

“It’s not…  sorry… I can’t keep… this. No… working out.” The conversation seems to end and Peeta sighs deep after an eternity of silence. I hear him utter the question, “What am I doing?”, and realize he must have been on the phone. Silence falls again on the other side of the door. I cross the room to crack the window and when I turn around Peeta is there, in the doorway. It seems like hours go by. He doesn’t smile or laugh, and a tinge of nerves erupts inside me for the millionth time today. “What is it?”

 

“Ask me,” he says. My eyes narrow just a bit and my head cocks to the side ever so slightly as I try to understand his meaning. “Did you mean it when you asked me to stay last night?” His voice betrays all sorts of anxiety, cracking on every other word. It’s so endearing and surprising, and now I remember what it was that had hidden itself in the back of my mind. I asked him to stay with me. I nod, not trusting my own voice. “Ask me,” he repeats.

 

I swallow my nervousness and breathe out three words. “Stay with me?” His mouth moves, no sound escaping it, but I can lip read that word any time of day or night. _Always._

 

Peeta closes the door and removes his shoes and the top layer of his clothing, remaining in an undershirt, shorts and socks. I watch in disbelief as he moves to the side of the bed he always slept on when we were together, pulling back his side of the covers. I don’t ask questions. Somewhere in my mind someone is telling me not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I slide into bed next to him. It’s almost as if we’re on autopilot, the way I turn on my side, and the way he scoots over next to me, molding his body to mine. The way his arm drapes over my middle and his forehead rests in the hollow of my neck. His warm breath hits my skin and it’s like the last four years has been a dream. A horrible, lonely dream.

 

“Peeta?”

 

“Mhm?” He already sounds half asleep.

 

“I heard you talking in the hall.” I’m not sure if it’s my place to ask or not, but the way he’s curled up behind me makes me too curious about his change of heart to fall asleep without some sort of answer. “Who was it?”

 

“No one special,” he tells me sleepily, tightening his arm around me and pulling me flush to his chest. His answer is good enough for me right now. We’re both exhausted and I don’t want to break the wonderful spell that’s seem to come over us.

 

I can feel his body release whatever tension he’s been under lately, and as my eyelids become heavy I twine our fingers together against my stomach, whispering goodnight to him. He doesn’t respond, and I think he must already be asleep, but I swear I feel the faintest brush of his lips on my shoulder. I fall asleep with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, someone told me I could stop here and they would have plenty of closure. Yay or nay? Thoughts? Is this good enough or is there still some story left to tell? Holla! Pbg


	14. There's Such A Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop! I was supposed to update Lost and Found, but instead I got really excited that I could get this whole fic wrapped up in a week if I just pushed myself a little. The next chapter is ready, and I’m already working on 16, which could be the last one. Then maybe an epilogue. This could all be over in a week! Is anyone else doing a happy dance?? Thank you to Burkygirl and Xerxia for inspiration, beta work, beta re-work, thoughts, complaints, naggings, telling me they want to throw their tablets out the window and punch a few people. I just smile maniacally.

“Ready?” Gale asks, holding his elbow out for me as I stare at the offering, wishing it were someone else’s. It’s almost our cue to precede my sister down the aisle. I catch two familiar heads of blond hair in the second row and I immediately know whom is whom. Peeta’s hair is wavier than Rye’s. I wonder if Peeta can feel my gaze on him?

 

There are just four of us standing with Prim and Rory today. Besides Gale and me, there’s Vick, the third and youngest Hawthorne brother, and Rue, Prim’s best friend from ninth grade. She moved away, but they always stayed in touch. They’re almost identical except for Rue’s ebony shading.

 

She and Vick are halfway down the aisle. Rory stands near the altar, waiting expectantly. He looks like he may faint and I understand the feeling. I’m a ball of nerves and it’s not even my wedding.

 

“Yeah.” I swallow a lump, loop my arm through Gale’s, and before I know it we’re taking measured steps toward the front of the church. I feel Peeta watching me as we move closer to the front, but I was told specifically to keep my chin up and smile on, looking straight ahead for the camera. It’s so hard.

 

We haven’t spoken since the night he stayed with me when I woke up to a note that said he had to get to work on Prim’s cake and food and we should talk later. Two days later, we still haven't said a word, although we've both been so busy I suppose that's understandable. He's been preparing a feast and I've had my hands full keeping up with Prim and Rue -- hair, make-up, freshly painted nails, long talks about fashion and celebrity gossip. I should get a medal for the things I do in the name of sisterly love.

 

Everyone stands as the traditional wedding music bellows from the pipes of the hundred year-old organ. My eyes lock with Peeta’s for a moment and he gives me the tiniest wink and I go weak in the knees. I tear my eyes from his to focus on Prim. It is her day, after all. She’s stunning in our Mother’s gown with her hair tucked into a side bun. A forties-inspired veil covers half her face and it’s attached to a large comb adorned with a silk flower. Her makeup is perfect, accentuating her bright blue eyes and a pink gloss on her lips. She looks like a breath of fresh air in the middle of winter. I blink to try and curb a few tears threatening to slide down my cheeks and focus on the Reverend as he addresses the congregation.

 

I feel eyes on me again. I know it’s silly because I’m standing in front of two hundred people and _of course_ there will be a few stares, but I glance at Peeta anyway and confirm it was him. He holds my gaze thoughtfully. His smile is wistful, and I can’t help but return it in kind. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking. That it could have been us in this church, in front of that altar and Pastor, with me in my Mother’s dress and him next to me. In a way, I’m glad it didn’t happen. We were too young, too inexperienced in the hardships of life. But it could be different now. My pulse speeds up and butterflies flit around my stomach at where my mind has travelled. My eyes water again and a rebellious tear makes a break for it. I have to wipe it away quickly and turn back to listen to the Reverend’s sermon, but I don’t hear much of it.

 

By the time Prim and Rory have said ‘I do’, exchanged rings and kisses, and been pronounced husband and wife, Peeta hasn’t locked eyes with me once, always looking away when mine flicker over to him unbidden.

 

A knot forms in my stomach as I help Prim with the long train of my mother’s gown, making our way across the historic building to the reception. We’re the last to arrive, and the crowd erupts into cheers as Gale and I follow the newlyweds into the large room. The DJ is already through a third of the playlist of Prim’s favorite songs and people look refreshed and happy, as though there hasn’t been a good bash thrown in this town for centuries.

 

“I’ll go grab you some food,” I tell Prim after she’s seated at the table. The buffet line isn’t too long, but I cut in with a semi-apologetic smile since the plate I’m piling food on is for the bride. I know it will taste as good as it smells because Peeta had a hand in it, but I’m too anxious to eat. I just want to see him. Talk to him. I need to hear his voice like the desert needs a good rain shower.

 

As soon as I place Prim’s plate down, I ask if there’s anything more I can get her, careful not to shirk my maid-of-honor duties. When she says no, my lungs relax. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, tell her I’ll be back, and immediately start looking for Peeta. We haven’t even spoken in almost forty-eight hours. When I stepped off that plane a week ago, I never would have imagined how badly I’d be yearning for him now.

 

I check first by his gorgeous cake - three exquisite tiers covered in perfectly smooth, white frosting. The edges are piped with waves of the frosting as well, and dotted with handmade primroses that mimic the real ones cascading down the side of the cake. It’s a confection of pure genius, intricate and thoughtful, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of cake a baker would make for his own bride. With Peeta’s attention to detail I’m certain of it.

 

“So, what do you think?” Peeta’s voice brings me back to the present. He’s more than handsome in black slacks, a fitted white shirt and thin orange tie that makes the blue of his eyes seem even bluer. His perfectly styled hair practically shouts for my fingers to muss it up.

 

“It’s…,” I pause trying to think of some great compliment I can give him but as usual my brain fails me. Probably because the way his cheeks flush as he looks me over has me flustered. “Honestly, there are no words.”

 

“I’m sure you could think of _a_ word,” he quips and give me a sort of half-laugh, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 

“I could give you plenty of words, but they wouldn’t do it justice. It’s just so… personal?” Peeta’s brow furrows.

 

“Okay that’s not really what I was expecting,” he admits, looking a little disappointed.

 

“I just meant that you’re so thoughtful. It’s detailed and beautiful, but words aren’t my thing and so I don’t feel like any of the ones I could come up with would do it justice.” The confusion lifts from his face when he understands my meaning. He gives me a megawatt smile that not only reaches his eyes, but gives me a glimpse of his heart, of the Peeta I used to know way back when. The Peeta I want now.

 

“Thank you, Katniss. That means a lot. You look really beautiful, by the way. It was kind of hard to keep my eyes off you during the ceremony.” I’m sure I blush, and I know my heart leaps a bit at his words. I feel like a stupid schoolgirl all over again.

 

“Thank you,” I tell him. But it’s not just for the compliment and I hope he can feel all the meaning behind it, since I’m not good at expressing it with words. It’s for being there for me even when things between us were unhinged and bleak. For staying with me that night, helping me through the last few days, even if we weren’t together. Just the thought of seeing him again and having a friendship with him is something I never thought I’d have again.

 

My hands hang limply at my sides, unsure of what to do. I want to hug him, hold his hand, touch him somehow, some way. I want to feel that spark that shoots through me when his skin brushes mine. Our gazes seem connected as though no one else is in the room, and I almost jump out of my skin when Rye thumps me on the back.

 

“Katniss! You look gorgeous, baby,” he says, laughing at my scowl after I’ve caught my balance. These heels are killing my feet and I may know of an ass to stick one in. “You two making up? There’s an unused room down the hall. Don’t ask how I know. Or do,” he says with a wink before he walks away. I wonder if both heels will fit.

 

I can’t bring myself to look at Peeta. Not because I don’t want to take him in that abandoned room and use it the same way I’m sure Rye did, but because I’m afraid I’ll see on his face how he really feels. But as I possess no self-control, my eyes snap to his. He’s suppressing a grin and he looks just as embarrassed as I feel. I let out a breath straight up into the air that would normally blow wisps of hair off my forehead, but this updo and megaton of hairspray I’ve been forced to wear in the name of matrimony keep everything in place.

 

“So,” I start, clasping my hands behind my back, trying to move on after Rye’s interruption. “I, uh, slept really well the other night. Thank you for staying.”

 

“Of course, of course,” he says to me like it was just second nature to climb in bed beside me and sleep there all night.

 

My arms tingle and my nerves are on full alert, making me feel like I could vomit as the next question leaves my mouth without any thought. “Actually, do you - would you want to come over tonight? Prim will be gone and I’ll be alone with just my mom. You could even… stay again.” I follow it quickly with the most unconvincingly nonchalant ‘only if you want to’, and his smile falters a little.

 

“I, uh, I slept great too, but, um,” he swallows and my heart drops at the _but_ he just threw out. “I really think we should talk first.”

 

“Oh,” I answer, and to my own ears I sound small and hollow, and I feel about two inches tall.

 

“There’s a lot going on in my head right now and I need to make sure of some things,” he explains. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want him next to me tonight. And for the rest of the nights that I’m in town. I’ll miss him so much when I’m back in L.A.

 

“Yeah, I understand.” I try to wave off my disappointment, thankful for the DJ’s voice over the microphone that pulls everyone’s attention to the dance floor. The newlyweds are about to share their first dance as husband and wife. My eyes are focused on Prim and Rory as the lights dim and Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud begins to play, but my mind is on my own situation. My own regrets and the emptiness I can’t help but feel after Peeta’s statement. I wonder what exactly it is that’s going on in his head. Is he having second thoughts about the other night? Is Cassie still in the picture? Am I being friend-zoned? None of the smiles and eye-contact we shared over the last few hours matter as my thoughts give way to the worst - that maybe I’ll be invited as a guest to Peeta’s wedding, instead of being the other half of it.

 

I’m so distracted by the awful rabbit trail my thoughts have taken that I don’t hear the DJ call for all the lovely couples to join Prim and Rory on the dance floor. People bustle around me and I watch as my friends pair up and all the other married people do the same. There are a few bodies left to be wallflowers. Mostly children and the elderly. And me.

 

I don’t dare look at Peeta. I’ve already put myself out there. Instead, I plaster on a smile and watch until blond hair, blue eyes and a flash of brilliant white teeth appear in front of me, asking me to dance, but it’s not the brother I want. It would be rude to refuse, and so I loop my arm through a man’s for the second time today and find myself wishing it belonged to someone else.

 

“My brother’s an idiot,” Rye says with a smirk as his arms come around my waist and mine clasp behind his neck. He holds me close enough, but our bodies don’t touch anyplace else.

 

“Why’s that?” I ask.

 

“He didn’t ask the prettiest girl in the room to dance.” I purse my lips to hold back a smile, but it doesn’t work very well. “You should see the way he’s glaring at us. At me, really.”

 

A thought dawns on me. “Why did _you_ ask me to dance?”

 

“Like I said. You’re the prettiest girl in the room.” He flashes me a smile that tells me that’s only half the answer, and I respond with an arch of my eyebrow. “Aaaaaand I just want to piss him off a little.”

 

“Why would you do that?” I ask as our feet move us in a tight circle. Rye doesn’t let go when a new song begins.

 

“Because I’m a good brother,” he smirks, and then his expression and tone turn serious. “He’s just scared and he needs a little nudge.”

 

Before I can ask anymore questions, Rye laughs and says “It worked.” He presses a quick kiss to my cheek before he steps away in the middle of the song, leaving me gaping at what just happened. When I turn my head to follow him with a confused look, Peeta is there.

 

“Would you care to dance?” He looks agitated.

 

“Sure. Are you alright?” I ask as my arms snake up his shoulders and around his neck. This feels much better and I have to fight the urge to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands settle at my waist, as if he’s unsure what to do. I finally stop fighting and let my fingers do what they want, which seems to relax Peeta, and he pulls me closer to him.

  
He breathes in and closes his eyes, fixing me with a smoldering stare when he opens them. “I’m fine now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I’ve had a break from this one, I’m going to be a butthole and hold the next chapter unless you all talk to me. ;) Was it fluff enough? Too fast? Too slow? Good pace? I’m curious to know how you think it’s going to end… Let me hear! Pbg


	15. Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone that left a review on the last chapter! I know it can get old every time I update and ask for feedback, but it drives my story and my discipline to sit down and write knowing I have people anxious for more. You’re all so amazing! I’m working on the next update as well and hope to have it out by Monday. Thanks so much to Burkygirl and Xerxia for reading and betaing! You girls are excellent!

 I wake early to the memories of Prim’s wedding and the fact that she’s gone on her honeymoon. She’ll be back in five days. And in five days I’ll be headed back to L.A. The house is quiet, but I can’t sleep. Well, I can - just not very well. Not without Peeta.

 

I burrow further under the covers, willing sleep to claim me, but my mind wanders back to last night. Me dancing in Peeta’s arms. We didn’t pull apart for two more songs after that, until the DJ, oblivious to how much of a good time I was having, started playing Beyonce’s Single Ladies. I caught Rye snickering and slinking away from his table. I swear if he isn’t certifiable, he will be one day.

 

We didn’t see each other much after that. I was needed by Prim and Peeta had cake-cutting duties. After the newlyweds changed and left, people began to trickle out. I volunteered to save some of the expenses, by cleaning up a lot of the reception myself, along with the church janitor in the morning. But I wanted to get a head start. There were dishes to scrub, floors to sweep, and linens to launder. I piled everything in its place and then sat down in one of the remaining chairs, leaning over to pull my shoes off when the sound of metal scraping across the stained concrete floor caught my attention.

 

“Here. Let me,” Peeta said, sitting down next to me. He reached out for my foot, and when I hesitated he wiggled his fingers impatiently. Leaning back against my seat I lifted one leg, which Peeta caught and settled into his lap. He peeled the shoe away and motioned for my other foot, doing the same for that one. When he started rubbing circles into the pads under my toes I swear I sounded like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally.

 

“That feels amazing, Peeta. Don’t stop.” I flinched a little at what it sounded like, but then he dug into my arch and I almost fell out of the chair my back bowed with the painful pleasure.

 

“Is that good?” His voice was low and gravelly. I was instantly reminded of our nights together years ago, and the other things his hands were capable of. A familiar shot of desire made itself known between my thighs.

 

“Mhm,” I moaned, then bit my lip to stifle any other words that might give away what had begun to build in my core. Even thinking of it now is getting me worked up. Peeta had paid the same attention to my other foot, and we were both flushed and breathing a little harder when he placed my feet on the ground and said he had to get going. He was back to normal baker’s hours the next morning. I tried to mask my disappointment, but then he asked if we could talk soon, and I asked if he wanted to get lunch. The smile came to my face naturally when he said yes, and I swear I caught him adjusting himself as he walked away.

 

I stay under the covers for a little longer until I’m sure extra rest isn’t coming. I get up, shower and make my bed, throw on clothes and leave some breakfast out for Mom. I pass the bakery on my to the church and pull into the parking lot, convincing myself I could use a blueberry muffin and some coffee. Peeta does make the best muffins. Peeta makes the best _everything_ , really.

 

It’s only 6:30 in the morning and there’s already a line formed. People are milling around the cases. Some are sitting at the tables eating their breakfast purchases, sipping lattes and hot chocolates. Peeta and Rye are both behind the counter, but Rye sees me first. He elbows Peeta, who looks at his brother, then at me when Rye nods his head in my direction. Once his eyes are locked with mine, the smile on my face spreads without any thought at all and I wiggle my fingers at him in greeting. He grins stupidly and after finishing up with his customer, he rounds the counter and seeks me out, pulling me toward the back of the shop.

 

“Hey,” he says. His cheeks tinge pink and his eyes sparkle, and it’s timid and adorably awkward. I feel the exact same way. It’s like we’re starting from scratch.

 

“Hey, yourself. I came for some famous Mellark muffins.”

 

“You sure you wouldn’t rather have the equally famous Mellark buns, Katniss?” Rye chimes in rather loudly, garnering a few snickers from the patrons, and Peeta and I both shoot him a murderous look. “Sor- _ry_ ,” he backs away to help another customer after making a random cat-screeching noise.

 

“Sorry about that,” Peeta apologizes for Rye, motioning me into the kitchen for some privacy.

 

“We both know how he is,” I say with a shrug. “So are we still on for lunch?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, for sure,” he answers, hands placed casually on his hips. “You want to meet me at Sae’s?” My heart stutters when he mentions the greasy burger joint we used to frequent when we were together. It’s a rat trap for sure, but it’s _our_ rat trap.

 

“That sounds nice.”

 

“Okay,” he says, and takes a tentative step closer to me, his impossibly blue eyes alert and a little shy.

 

“Okay.” I breathe out the word, his nearness affecting my lungs like the oxygen has been pulled out of the room. He places his hands on my arms, gliding them up and down softly, leaning in. His lips graze the skin by my ear and I press our cheeks together, my eyes closing of their own volition. My already limited breath hitches when he pulls back just so and our eyes lock, lips inches from each other.

 

“Peeta!” Rye bellows, from the front. “I’m gettin’ slammed out here.” Peeta steps back and drops his head and shoulders. I’m finally able to suck in a breath as a burst of laughter escapes my lungs. Peeta grins wide and shakes his head at his brother’s timing.

 

“Blueberry?” he asks. I nod my head and he quickly fetches me a bag with two jumbo muffins in one hand and a steaming vanilla latte in the other. “Put that away,” he tells me when I reach for the cash I stashed in the back pocket of my jeans. My pleading look doesn’t work either, but it does earn me a second peck on the cheek and it’s all I can do not to pull him to my lips in front of all his customers, disapproving looks and catcalls be damned.

 

Anticipating lunch with Peeta keeps me light on my feet and quick with my hands, and I make quick work of the dishes and linens at the church. I’m back at the house in no time, stripped down and taking my second shower of the day. Instead of my normal braid, I wear my hair loose down my back, the way Peeta always said he liked it best. He said it gave him the chance to run his fingers through it. I wonder if he’ll remember?

 

Peeta’s not there when I arrive, so I wait at the small bar, noticing our booth is vacant. I’m not sure if it’s presumptuous to sit there or not. I think I’m reading his signals right. _Right?_ Everything else aside, he almost kissed me earlier. I’m not the best at reading between the lines, or even on top of them if I’m being honest, but he’s completely different than when I first showed back up to town.

 

The door swings open and Peeta steps through, pulling his beanie off his head and running his hands through his flattened curls. He looks toward our booth first, but then he spots me as I walk towards him.

 

“Hey,” we say in unison, then exchange a quiet laugh. He looks at me like he wants to say something, and I see him notice my hair. His hand brushes my neck before combing through the dark waves, and I know he’s remembering even if he doesn’t say it. He breathes a deep, contented breath and seconds later his hand finds mine, leading me to our booth. The air in the plastic cushion pops the seat up on the opposite side as I plop down on it.

 

“I’ve missed this place,” I say out loud.

 

“Me, too,” Peeta agrees, and I can’t help but look at him strangely.

 

“You too?”

 

He breathes deeply and I can feel the whoosh of air from his lungs all the way on my side.

 

“Yeah, I uh, haven’t been in here all that much lately,” he admits, his attention focused on the menu. I can tell he’s stalling because I know he knows the menu by heart.

 

“How long?”

 

“A few months?” he glances at me quickly, and something isn’t right.

 

“How long?” I ask again, my tone emphasizing that I’m looking for the truth.

 

“Uhh, since you left?” I’m sure my face reveals what a shocking revelation that is to me. “I get take out and stuff. It’s not like I haven’t come in here at all.”

 

“What can I get you two?” a young girl I’ve never seen before asks. Peeta orders us two cherry cokes and the bacon cheeseburgers and waffle fries we always used to get. He remembers everything - hold the mayo, no pickles, grill the onions. When she’s gone he changes the subject , but it doesn’t take my mind off of how much my leaving must have hurt him.

 

“So Prim is married.” It’s more of a statement than anything.

 

“Yeah, I guess she is. Mrs. Hawthorne,” I say, testing her new name out loud. It stirs up some emotions inside - pride, happiness, sadness for the chapter of our lives that’s over, and a little fear. “Who would’ve thought my little sister would be the first of our group to get married?”

 

Peeta chuckles. “No one. Gale being second never crossed my mind either.”

 

“I know!” I cry in disbelief, hitting my palm on the table. “He dated every girl in our graduating class and seemed to have some ludicrous reason for breaking up with them! Remember?” Peeta nods his head and the waitress drops of our cokes. He takes a long drink from the straw.

 

“It was always _their_ fault.” Peeta rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. “I always thought we’d beat everyone-” he stops, realizing what he’s said and his eyes widen.

 

“It’s okay.” I want to reassure him that I’m ready to talk about it. “You can say it.”

 

He hesitates, as if he’s not sure he should, so I say it for him. “You always thought it would be us first.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, barely meeting my eyes.

 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. And… do you know what I realized?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“That one week in the same town with you has me doubting the last four years without you.” His face looks physically pained and I don’t want to be the cause of it, so I reach across the table and take his hand.

 

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself, Katniss. As much as I want to rush into things and pick up where we left off and live the dreams I had for us, I realize we’re not the same people anymore.” His thumb brushes my skin methodically and I nod, agreeing with him. “I think we really need to get to know each other as friends again.” My insides mirror the pain that flickered across his face moments ago and I pull my hand away.

 

“Katniss, please. Don’t do that. I just- I just need to know that it’s real, these signals I’m getting from you. I can’t go through that again. You’re it for me, but... I’m not fully convinced that I’m it for you.”

 

“What about Cassie?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, but I’m curious to know what feelings Peeta still has for her. Two years doesn’t just go away.

 

“We’re not together anymore. It just wasn’t working out.”

 

“Was it because of me?”

 

“Yes and no,” he tells me. “I knew,” he stops and sighs. “I _knew_ I didn’t want to be with her forever. I’ve known for a while. We never saw each other much, long distance and all that. So I got out. It wasn’t fair to either of us.” He stops and looks me dead in the eyes and I feel every word he says. “Not when part of me wanted it to be you running to me when I saw you at the airport. I knew it as soon as I saw you. It was one of the reasons I was so angry all week. Seeing you there, it was like none of the feelings I tried so hard to move past had done anything but rooted down inside me, and I had no idea if you still felt anything for me.”

 

He looks like a lost puppy and my heart aches to tell him I do.

 

“Do you?” he asks before I can say it. “Still feel something? Or am I just crazy?”

 

“You’re definitely not crazy.” My statement has a visible effect on him as he exhales and his entire demeanor relaxes. “I wanted it to be me, too. At the airport…” I hold his gaze even though I want to look away so badly. It’s hard to be this vulnerable, but he needs to know. His eyes hold a soft warmth as he reaches across the table to grab my hand, his thumb stroking my palm in gentle circles.

 

“I want us to start over as friends, not because I don’t want more, but because I do. I can’t lose you again, Katniss.”

 

* * *

  

As much as I hate the friends idea, Peeta and I discussed it at length, and he’s right. I live three thousand miles away and I’m leaving at the end of the week. I understand his trepidation. It doesn’t make it easy, though.

 

We parted ways with a hug - a hug that I was loathe to break, mind you - and a promise to see each other again soon. It’s been four days and I’ve seen him twice, both times at a get together with our friends. We hang around each other and talk and laugh like old times, but it’s not what I want. He seems happy, though, so I go along with it.

 

Prim and Rory are back, staying in her room for now. They’ll have to look after our Mother for a little while longer. After hearing the PG details of their honeymoon we all sat down and discussed the option of a retirement home, but the nearest one is a two-hour drive so we decided against it. We want our Mother close even if it means she lives with one of us, and the private care option is too expensive. I’ve agreed to look for a job in the area and move back when something opens up. I’m not sure when that will be. The teachers around Panem are very tenured, and I know I can’t leave L.A. for the next five months anyway.

 

I’m packing when I get a text from a number I haven’t seen light up my phone in ages - Peeta’s. I grab and swipe my finger across it to see what he says.

 

_Can we meet up tonight?_

 

It doesn’t take me long to type out a yes.

 

_Bakery at 6?_

 

Another yes and a thumbs up emoji. I hope it’s not too eager. I figured the wink is more than friendly and the kiss emoji is definitely sending the right signal as far as I’m concerned, but it doesn’t seem to fit with Peeta’s request to be friends and take it slow. It’s going to be a long semester.

 

Most of my things are packed and I decide to spend some time with Mom on the couch before I meet up with Peeta. She’s holding the knitting needles in her hand, still working on that scarf. It’s long enough to be a runner on a table for twenty now. I hold back a laugh because she seems happy and oblivious to all the crap that’s happened to us the last few years.

 

“I’m going to miss you, Mom,” I tell her sweetly.

 

“I’ll miss you, too, Dear.” She stops knitting to pat my knee, but she keeps her eyes on the yarn. She doesn’t look anyone in the eye ever. I’ve come to accept that it’s her way of seeing but not _really_ seeing.

 

I try to engage her in short conversations, but she tires of them quickly so we sit in silence. Her hands work swiftly and I watch the scarf grow another four inches before it’s time for me to go to the bakery.

 

“Bye, Mom.” I lean over to give her a kiss on the cheek and call to Prim that I’m headed out for a bit. She yells down to tell Peeta she says hi, even though I didn’t tell her who I was going to see. She can be such a know-it-all sometimes.

 

It’s dark out already, but all the bakery lights are on. I can’t see Peeta through any of the floor-to-ceiling windows as I approach the door, but one turn of the handle lets me into the warm air, filled with the smell of cinnamon and yeast. The cow bell strapped to the top of the door rings and soon Peeta comes out from the kitchen.

 

“Hey,” he says, shoving his cotton sleeves up to his elbows. When he walks toward me I can tell his hair is still damp from a shower, and when his strong arms pull me into a hug I hook my arms underneath his shoulders and breathe in the clean smell of him. I want to stay here for the rest of my life. I’m not sure I can ever express what he’s given me back with just this kind of closeness. Two weeks ago it was an impossible situation.

 

“Hey,” I mumble into the warm skin of his neck. He squeezes before releasing me.

 

“I, uh, got us a movie. And made some fresh cheese buns.” It’s such a sweet gesture that I don’t even think before rising on my toes and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Oh! Sorry,” I apologize after realizing what I’ve done. Trying to keep it in the friend zone around Peeta isn’t going to be easy. Especially since we’re on better terms now.

 

“It’s okay,” he blushes and reaches up to touch his cheek and I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.

 

“So? I’m starved, Mellark. Where are these cheese buns you’re teasing me with?” Peeta leads me up to the attic that used to be storage, and the conversion is pretty spectacular. The details are all so perfectly him, from the neutral colors to the accents of varying hues of orange, none of them offensive, to the kitchen that’s small but perfectly organized and clean. A slatted partition separates the bedroom space, and I can see a glimpse of neatly made, gray bedding across the mattress.

 

I smell the buns before I see them neatly arranged on a tray in front of a large, dark brown couch. The coffee table is more of a wooden storage chest made out of planks, but beautifully stained with oversized black hinges that look like they’re from King Henry’s time. Everything is nicely arranged and balanced, but still has that warm feel that begs you to take your shoes off and stay awhile. And that’s exactly what I do.

 

I curl up next to Peeta, careful not to get too cozy into his side. His arms are in his lap and he watches the movie diligently, glancing over every now and again, and pointing out his favorite parts in the action flick I’ve never seen. We could be watching the worst film in history and I wouldn’t care as long as I got to be near him.

 

“So, uh, do you think I could take you to the airport tomorrow?” Peeta asks me as the credits roll to some metal music. He points the remote at the TV and lowers the volume, waiting for my answer, which is most definitely a yes. There’s no one I’d rather spend my last hour away from home with.

 

“Of course. Are you sure, though? You have work,” I remind him, not wanting to be a charity case. I know Prim would let him take that responsibility off her hands for multiple reasons, not the least of which is me spending alone time with Peeta. Everyone else is gone back to work.

 

He laughs and feigns forgetfulness. “Yea, you’re right. Nevermind. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I punch him playfully in the shoulder and he howls and bowls over as if I just walloped him good. He stops pretending to be hurt and turns more serious. “No really, though. What are friends for?” It’s a perfectly bad ending to an otherwise wonderful night. I try to hide my disappointment at the word ‘friends’ again, focusing on the blanket I covered up with in the middle of the movie because I didn’t know what to do with my hands after I ate my weight in cheese buns.

 

“Yeah, sure. What are friends for,” I echo the sentiment less enthusiastically than he did, but I flash him a grateful smile. “I better get going. Early morning and all.”

 

“Yeah, alright.” Peeta offers his hand to help me up from the couch, and I slip my shoes on quickly. I’m at war with myself inside. I don’t want to go, but I’m a little desperate to be alone with my thoughts. I suppose I should be thankful that we’re friends again, but every time he says the word it’s like a punch to the gut, leaving my insides gasping.

 

“What time should I pick you up?” he asks when we near the front of the bakery.

 

“Seven is good.”

 

“Okay. See you then,” he tells me before pulling me into a hug. A hug I want to return fiercely, but instead I find my arms hanging limply around him. I think he feels it, too, when I feel him sigh into my hair. It’s different, but all too familiar. I’m leaving for L.A. tomorrow, the same as four years ago, not knowing when I’ll be back. The same as four years ago. And we’re not together, _the same as four years ago_. I feel it inside, that dreadful fear that something will keep us apart. I want to tell him so badly that I’ll be back soon, but I can’t make promises I have no idea if I’ll be able to keep. What does ‘I’ll be back sometime in the distant future’ accomplish? What if I don’t find a job soon enough? Panem is a small town and the job market is even smaller.

 

He lets me go, promising to see me at seven sharp. Climbing slowly into my car I think only one thing -- Peeta was right. We have to make this work as friends.

  

* * *

 

 

“Bye, Prim.” I wrap my sister in tight hug, her slender arms squeezing me back just as fiercely. She’s the only person left to say goodbye to, other than Peeta. “I’m so, so happy for you,” I whisper in her ear. She only returned from her honeymoon the day before, but I’m almost out of vacation time.

 

“Call me when you get home,” she says in a motherly tone and I wonder again when we switched roles.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond teasingly. It’s been so good to come back, but these goodbyes are even harder than they were four years ago. I’m not as broken now.

 

“Ready?” At the sound of his voice I turn and find the reason my heart wants to stay. All of me, really. But I can’t. I have responsibilities and a life back in L.A. Maybe soon, though, I can come back for good. Prim doesn’t need me anymore, but our Mother does.

 

Peeta hefts my large suitcase from the porch, depositing it into the bed of his truck. He opens the passenger door for me, but he barely meets my eyes as I climb in. When he’s in the driver’s seat, he reminds me to buckle up before backing away from the house. I give one last wave to my little family standing on the porch - Prim, Mother and Rory - until they’re out of sight.

 

The truck is silent for a few moments. Things between Peeta and me since the day we had lunch have been good. But now I’m leaving and it’s like neither one of us knows what to do or say.

 

“Thank you for driving me,” I tell him. He glances at me briefly before his eyes focus back to the road. I swear I see a flash of uncertainty, but the kindness that is inherently Peeta outshines whatever it was. He reaches across the console and squeezes my hand. The gesture warms my heart enough to melt it like wax and I squeeze back, groaning inwardly when he lets go. I want him to hold me forever.

 

We make small talk the rest of the way. I’m not usually one for that type of chit chat, but I don’t mind it at all with Peeta. I’ll hang onto anything to keep the connection going between us. He asks me about my students, my friends, what I do for fun in L.A. I would normally respond with one word answers, but I find myself delving into little stories here and there, offering up a glimpse into my life I normally wouldn’t share unless it were someone special..

 

The conversation stalls, and I realize we’re pulling off the highway toward the airport entrance. My stomach flops over in misery and I hear Peeta exhale a deep breath. I wish the airport was further away.

 

All too soon he pulls the truck next to the curb in the departure lane, shifting into park. He stares straight ahead for a few seconds and I wonder what he’s thinking. “I, uh… Come back to visit soon, alright?” he stammers. I get the feeling he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Before I can respond, he climbs out and rounds the truck, grabbing my bag as I hesitantly step down from my side. When I left L.A. I dreaded coming home. Now I’m dreading leaving.

 

With his head lowered, Peeta rolls my suitcase up next to me and lets go of the handle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at me. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes at all, and I know he’s putting on a brave face. For me or him, I’m not sure, but I know I can’t stand here forever. That plane doesn’t care if I’m on it or not.

 

“Thanks again. For the ride.” He nods once and a few awkward seconds tick by. I give up on waiting for him to make the first move, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him tightly before I can talk myself out of it. It takes a moment, but his arms wrap around my back and he breathes in, exhaling into my hair. I bury my face in his neck, then pull back to look into eyes that shimmer like the ocean at sunset.

 

“Kiss me, Peeta.” It comes out in a whisper even I barely heard, but his widened eyes confirm that he heard it, too. He stares at me long enough that I want to stuff the request back inside and forget it was ever spoken. Why did I say that? I just ruined a week’s worth of effort at being friends again with three little words.

 

I’m too pre-occupied by my inner turmoil to notice Peeta’s face inching toward mine, and when our lips touch, so softly I think I could die a happy woman, I take full advantage of the moment and pour every unspoken feeling into the kiss. I see fireworks that would make the Fourth of July jealous. When I part my lips, he follows and our tongues reacquaint, quickly catching up like long lost friends. The kind that can be separated for years and pick up right where they left off. We taste each other sweetly, slowly. I wonder if he’s savoring me the same way I am him. It sure feels that way.

 

Peeta groans when my hands find his hair and I pull tenderly at the roots. I want nothing more than to devour him and _be_ devoured by him. My groan comes out of frustration, because I know this isn’t the place. Strong hands rub circles in my back and Peeta rests his forehead against mine. My lips are cold and lonely, so I press them against his again, just a touch to warm them. To feel heaven again. I feel a grin stretch across his face.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” he tells me.

 

“I’ll be back,” I reassure both Peeta and myself.

 

“When?” It’s a whispered plea. One I can’t answer for sure. I tell him what I feel rather than what I know.

 

“As soon as I can.”

  

* * *

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Is there some happiness here even though she has to go back to L.A.? Talk to me. What do you hope happens? Is there something you wish would have happened instead of how I wrote it? Just some food for thought. I’d love to hear it! Pbg


	16. A Million Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The last chapter! After a week of fussing and fretting over it I'm finally happy with it. I hope you are, too!

Chapter 16

The minute the plane touches down, I turn my phone on and find a text from Peeta. Prim sent one too, but that can wait. I’m sure my smile is ridiculously huge as I swipe the screen and enter my passcode at lightning speed, but right now but I don’t care who sees it. I’ve only been away from him for half a day, and already I can’t stand it. 

Hey. Will you let me know when you land?

My fingers hover over the letters as I try to think of something to say back to him, something witty and fun, and maybe a little flirty. I have to settle for quick and easy, though, because I’ve second-guessed every word and deleted about twelve messages already. It’s almost time for my row to exit.

Hey there. Landed. Text you later?

I tag on a happy face, which I normally loathe to do, but I don’t mind so much for Peeta. The crowd is pressing in, eager to disembark from the plane, so I shove my phone in my purse and grab my carry on bag. Once I’ve picked up my checked baggage, I pull it back out to see where Johanna is. She’s my ride back to the apartment. A response from Peeta pushes the need for a ride home out of my mind quickly.

Sure thing. Be safe.

I’m about to send a reply when the phone rings, cutting off my message.

“Hey, Jo. You here?”

“Didn’t I say I would be?” She's as droll as ever.

It takes a little time to reach her with all the crowds, but soon I’m in the car and we’re heading down the freeway at stop and go pace during a rainstorm. After an hour, and we’ve only gone two and a half miles, Jo manages to get the car across three lanes of traffic and exit so we can eat dinner. It’s four o’clock here, which means it’s seven in Panem, and I’m already getting sleepy. I can’t tell if it’s jet lag or the early morning I had, or both. 

“IHOP!” bursts from my mouth as I point, thinking about pancakes and coffee. Lots of coffee. Johanna rolls her eyes and tells me to simmer down, chica, then pulls into the parking lot.

“So,” Johanna starts after we’ve ordered. “How was home?”

“Good. It was good.” It’s a semi-honest answer. It ended good at least.

“Meet up with any old boyfriends?” Her question startles me. I’ve never told my friends here about Peeta. It was part of my plan to move on, forget about him. If no one knew, then no one could ask about him. But I’m not sure I’m ready to divulge everything just yet.

“Spill it,” she orders. “You took too long thinking.”

My mouth drops open, then closes and I pin her with a glare. “You are-”

“Wonderful? Talented? Amazing?” she interrupts. “Go on. You were just about to tell me all about your hookup. Dish the dirty details.” She leans into the table, eyes glittering with curiosity.

“There wasn’t any hookup.” I jump when she bangs her hand on the table.

“Oh, come on, Everdeen! Give me something. Tell me you got drunk or at least that you dry humped some poor, unsuspecting hottie.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Jo.” I shrug and she rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically. “But-” I pause and her eyes and ears perk up, waiting for gossip. “I did kiss my ex.”

“Alright, alright. That’s… better than nothing.”

I give Johanna a few details about Peeta. Why we broke up, what he does for a living, and a physical description because she practically forced one out of me. At least she approves. I leave out some of the harsher circumstances surrounding our relationship, and the fact that my dad is dead. I’m still coming to terms with that and I don’t want pity or a sympathetic show of emotion. Not that Johanna would do either of those, but I’ve really only ever shared those feelings with Peeta.

Once I’m back at my apartment I drop my stuff in the middle of the living room and fish my phone from my purse. It’s almost 6 now, which means it’s close to 9 in Panem. Peeta usually goes to bed by 9:30, so at least I won’t be waking him up.

Hey… still up?

I stare at my phone for what seems like ten minutes but is probably less than one. When he doesn’t respond, I toss the phone onto my small loveseat and grab a drink of water before carting my stuff to the bedroom. I’m willing a text message to come through, but I know staring at the blank screen will be worse than watching water try to boil. 

After a shower, I allow myself to pick the phone up and check my messages. I’m relieved when I see one from Peeta.

Yeah. I forgot what a good night’s sleep felt like until the other night. 

I know exactly what he means. I pull the covers back on my bed and climb in, thankful that I changed the sheets before I left. They’re clean and cool and soft. The only thing missing is Peeta. 

I have an urge to call him instead of returning the text, and my stomach turns when I press that little telephone icon next to his name and set the phone on speaker. A small, nagging voice reminds me that he hasn’t picked up a call from me in four years, but my anxiety is short lived when I hear his voice and my face breaks into a huge grin. I stare at the phone as though I can see him through it.

“Hello?” he says, and the tension melts away. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” I can practically hear the dopey grin on his face, which means he can probably hear that my expression matches his. We sound like a couple of middle school kids that have no idea how to talk to each other, just smiling and being shy. “What are you doing?” 

“Well, I’m a little tired so I was going to lay down, and... I thought maybe you’d like to fall asleep with me?” I put myself out there. It’s terrifying and I half expect him to turn me down and tell me I’m being silly, so I tag on quickly, as if it were a stupid suggestion. “I figured it was better than nothing.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s perfect, actually,” he answers, and my heart swells. I can hear the sounds of covers rustling as Peeta moves around his bed. “Hey, Katniss?” he asks through a yawn. He sounds tired enough that I’d bet his eyes are already closed. What I wouldn't give to be there, seeing it for myself. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you.” 

________________________________________

“Hey, baby girl. Welcome back to the land of the fabulous.” Cinna stands and wraps me in a tight hug when I reach the table he’s saved for us. I’ve been back for a week but I’ve been so bombarded with getting back into a routine of staff meetings, paper grading and all the details that come with launching into a new semester that I feel like I’ve taken a year off instead of a two-week holiday.

“Thank you. It’s… good to be back.” My hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He releases me and looks into my face curiously, searching for something.

“Alright, my girl,” he says, motioning across the table at the empty seat. “Dish. Why is it that you seem ready to board another plane and rush back to the frigid Northeast?”

A deep breath isn’t as calming as I thought, but when I launch into why I miss home, and relay all that happened with my mother’s condition and Prim’s new life, my father’s death and how badly I want to be with Peeta, it’s like a balm that soothes my weary soul. I never realized talking about my problems could help, instead of bottling them up and trying to throw them into the sea of forgetfulness. 

Cinna’s brow furrows a few times and his chocolate eyes emit a warmth that assures me he’s feeling my dilemma deep in his soul. He waits patiently until I’m out of words before he responds, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “I sure am gonna miss you, my girl.” 

He never sugarcoats things, and as we continue talking I feel like I can conquer the world, as if I can right any wrong, even buoy a sunken ship to the surface. Though I haven’t made a decision, I take that gift with me as I hug him goodbye and head back to my lonely apartment.  
________________________________________

It’s the end of February, and I’m at school when I hear my cell phone buzz multiple times in my desk drawer. Sliding it open, I see Prim is calling. I’m not supposed to answer during class, but I can’t help it. She knows I’m at work so it must be an emergency of some sort. Awful scenarios begin to slip through my mind, one after another, each one worse than the last. Rory lost his job... Mom’s hurt... Peeta died. 

Deciding now isn’t the time to care about the rules, I grab the phone and slip into my supply closet. The kids are busy enough figuring out their end of the year science projects that they really don’t notice my absence.

“Prim?” I whisper, trying to be quiet so I’m not overheard.

“Katniss!” she shrieks excitedly and I have to pull the phone away from my ear. 

“Prim? Is everything alright?” The happy nature of her tone puts my fears at ease.

“Yes! Everything is perfect!” she gushes. I let the relief of her enthusiasm relax me. 

“Well, what is it then?” I demand, laughing with her although I have no idea why. 

“I’m pregnant!”

I’m speechless except for the very loud “What?!” that comes out of my mouth. “You’ve only been married for a few months!” Okay I guess I’m not that speechless.

“I’ve been married long enough, Katniss. Besides, did you hear me? You’re going to be an Auntie!” There is unmistakable joy in every word and squeal, and even though a part of me thinks this is too much too soon, the bigger part of me, the part that loves my sister more than life, is elated and proud.

We talk for the rest of class about potential baby names, colors for the nursery, and themes for a baby shower - cupcakes if it’s a girl. Superheroes if it’s a boy. It’s much easier to fall into the excitement than it was with the wedding. I’m going to be an aunt! My head in the clouds for the rest of the day. Not even Marvel and Cato’s antics in last period can bring me down. I even stop at a baby boutique on my way home and pick up the softest yellow blanket.

________________________________________

I'm the worst teacher ever. It's barely spring break and already I can't wait for summer. I just want to put on movies from now until the end of school. In some ways, it seems like the four months have flown by. In others, it seems to be crawling along like a depressed snail. I wish I were going home, but it’s not possible right now. I’ll have to be patient.

I let my boss know I wouldn’t be renewing my teaching contract. It’s time for me to start preparing to go back to Panem. No matter what happens between Peeta and me, my family is growing and I want to be there for it. 

There have been no job openings for teachers in Panem or the surrounding areas, and I’m saving every dime I don’t absolutely need. I may have to work at the grocery store, or even clean the church on weekends for Reverend Abernathy to earn an income until something opens up. 

Peeta and I talk on the phone almost every night until he falls asleep. I relish every breath I hear on my end before disconnecting the call and spending the next few hours dreaming of what it will be like when we’re together again. We FaceTime every Saturday night, and I’m waiting for his call right now. I can practically count down the seconds, he’s so punctual about it.

“Hey,” I greet him when his face pops up on the screen. His eyes light up and he smiles at me. I take in every feature I can on that little screen, wishing it were the size of my television instead. Or that he were here in the flesh. 

He runs a hand through his hair and I sigh inwardly.

“That’s my job,” I tell him, feeling jealous of his hand. 

“What is?” he asks, plopping back onto his bed.

“Running my hand through your hair.” Every time we talk we grow a little closer, a little bolder with our words. Telling him how I want to touch him is something I haven’t done yet, but now that I’ve started I’m not sure I want to stop.

I watch his face morph from confusion to shock to serious. “Do you…” he hesitates.

“Do I what?” He waits, blinks. Silence stretches out and I bite my lip nervously. 

“God I love when you do that,” he says hurriedly, as though he’s in mild pain. “Do you want your hands in my hair?” 

Yes!, my mind screams. I nod. “What else do you want, Katniss?” I blink slowly, eyes heavy with desire just from the way he says my name. We spend the rest of our time telling each other what we’re going to do when we finally see each other, how we’re going to touch, and all the things we’ve missed about one another. I look forward to Saturday nights more than ever.

________________________________________

“There’s nothing. Nothing,” I rant to Peeta over the phone. I’ve been scouring the internet for weeks now looking for a source of income. I’m supposed to leave for Panem in four short weeks, but with no prospects for a job, I may have to reconsider moving and see if I can get my job here back. I’m so frustrated with how this piece of my life isn’t falling into place like the others seemed to, and I’m finally losing my cool over it. 

Peeta sighs on the other end. “Katniss, don’t let it get you upset. If something doesn’t come up by the time you get here…” His voice fades and I know what he wants to say. I also know why he doesn’t finish his thought. I’ve always been on my own. Always taken care of myself.

“Peeta, I have student loans I’m still paying for. I have property taxes coming due and a mother to look after. I can’t put all that on you.” I can’t let him spend thousands of dollars for my benefit. We had this discussion a few times before I left Panem, where Peeta offered to help me take care of my mother and the bills. He was always saving his paychecks and stashing money for a ‘rainy day’. But I was always able to convince him I could do it alone. I succeeded at keeping my independence. 

“Katniss, I can take care of you,” he says confidently. His voice doesn’t waver one bit, leaving me with no doubt of the truth of his words. “Indefinitely,” he adds. 

“Peeta-”

“I know you’ll find something once you get here,” he interrupts me without hesitation. “And I know I’m pushing you out of your comfort zone, but dammit, Katniss, I want you here and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens. But in case you continue to be the stubborn girl I fell in love with when I was twelve, there’s plenty of work that can be done at the bakery.” 

“Peetaaaa,” I whine, my shoulders slumping with the weight of his offer. I have no other option. And I’m tired. Tired of being away from him, tired of fighting the loneliness and the empty bed and the fact that my sister is making me an aunt, but I’m not there to be part of it yet. I just want to go home. 

“I mean it Katniss.” I hear him take a deep breath. “I love you. I never stopped.”

I can feel my eyes well up with tears and I squeeze them shut, swiping at the wetness that spills over. I want so much more than to say it back to him, but the 3,000 miles between us is keeping me from showing him how I really feel. I pull the phone away from my ear for just a moment and take a deep breath so I can gather my emotions. My hand shakes as I bring it back up.

“I love you, too.” I’m not even sure he can hear it, but then he breathes and there’s a shuffle of some sort on the other end before he comes back on the line. 

“Oh, thank God. You mean it? It’s real?” 

I can’t help but laugh at the way he sounds like a kid in a candy store whose mother just told him he could have anything he wanted. “Yeah. It’s real.” 

“So then you’ll allow it? You’ll let me take care of you?” he asks earnestly, and there’s nothing else to think about. No argument I can really make. I’m going home. 

“I’ll allow it.”  
________________________________________

“We’re gonna miss you, girl.” Cinna’s voice is as chocolatey-smooth as his skin, and I know I’m going to miss him, too. Johanna purses her lips and nods agreement. She may seem hard on the outside, but inside she’s just as much a softy as anyone else. She just doesn’t like to show it. 

“Ditto,” I tell them after gulping down half a bottle of water. It’s June in L.A. and the early heat wave has us sweating furiously since we started packing earlier this morning for my move back to Panem. I check my phone, looking for a message from Peeta, but there hasn’t been anything since yesterday afternoon. He wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. 

My heart dropped into my stomach when I called earlier and got his voicemail. That hasn’t happened in six months, but I remember it well enough that it spread a long-known fear through me. I hope everything is okay. With him personally, as well as with us. 

“Loverboy not calling you back?” Johanna teases me. I brush it off quickly, though. I’ve gotten used to her brand of love over the last four years. 

“He said he was sick. Just worried about him is all.” I suddenly need to change the subject. “I’m starved,” I lie, turning so they can’t see my face. My stomach is in knots but putting food in their mouths will keep them from asking more questions. Plus, I owe them lunch for helping me pack. “Who wants pizza?” I whip out my credit card and dial the pizza place on the corner. They’re slow, but they make the best thin crust pizza in a ten mile radius, with these little pepperonis that curl and burn crisp at the edges. Like biting into a slice of hog heaven.

“I’m gonna run down the block and grab some beer and napkins,” I tell them, remembering I already packed up the kitchen. 

“Grab me the light brew,” Cinna says, patting his flat abs and giving me a wink. He likes to keep his calories low. It’s the industry he’s in. 

“You got it.” They continue packing up the trinkets I’ve collected in my tiny apartment. I’m not taking any of the furniture with me, but I’m surprised at how many boxes it’s going to take to get all my stuff to Pennsylvania. A block down the street and already I’m thinking about Peeta. He never strays far from my mind these days. It’s Saturday, and I have no idea if I’ll get to see him in our weekly video chat. I just wish he would send me something. Some message that he’s okay. That we’re okay.

I grab what I need and get in line, becoming increasingly frustrated with the guy in front of me, who can’t make up his mind which lottery ticket to buy, and then takes another five minutes deciding which cigarette brand he’s going to switch to. I almost lose it when he can’t grasp the very simple directions the clerk is trying to give him to the nearest hookah bar. 

I was in a fine mood when I left the apartment, but now I’m stomping back down the sidewalk with a six-pack of light beer and muttering obscenities under my breath about common courtesy. 

When I burst through the door I’m ready to unload on my friends about the injustice of it all, but as soon as I lay eyes on him I forget everything that’s happened for the last six months. 

“Peeta!” It comes out as a half-choked sob, and the beer hits the floor as I throw my arms around his neck. Miraculously it stays intact, but I wouldn’t care if every bottle shattered. As soon as he squeezes me I know I’m home, even if we’re still three thousand miles from Panem. 

“What are you doing here?” I don’t mean it to come out as an accusation, but I’m shocked that he’s physically standing in front of me, and it takes a moment before I remember there were two other people in the apartment before I left. “And where are Cinna and Jo?” I pull back to look into his eyes, questioning and concerned. 

“Ah, they said something about being done for the day, and they’d call you later,” he says, his voice quiet, and he looks down. “It was him.”

“Who was him?” I ask, cocking my head to try and catch his gaze. 

“Cinna. They guy you were with the night I came... was he? Were you and he…?” It’s unlike Peeta to stumble over his words. His hands gesture back and forth before he stuffs them in his pockets and takes a deep breath, waiting for me to say something.

“Cinna and me?” I snort loudly at the absurdity of it and Peeta’s head snaps up. “You thought I was with Cinna?” I ask again for confirmation. 

“Well, yeah.” There’s a sliver of irritation in his tone, and I wish I could have a little fun at his expense, but the pained look on his face brings out the truth. I can’t stand to see him hurt. We’ve done enough of that to each other. 

“Well, considering Cinna would be more into you than me, I’d say he was the safest guy I could have brought home.” I can tell the moment that understanding dawns and he shakes his head, his mouth forming a sad smile. My lips twitch in a smirk. “You know,” I start, walking my fingers up his chest, tapping on his chin when I reach it. “You really never had any competition.” 

Peeta catches my hand and pulls me closer. “Same here,” he confesses. “And to answer your first question, I wanted to surprise you. I’m here to bring you home.” By the way he says it, and the timid smile he gives me, I know in my gut this is how he wishes things would have happened back then, the first time he came to find me. I probably wouldn’t have said yes then, but now there’s nothing else I’d rather do than drive across the country with Peeta. Back to where we never have to be apart again. 

I’m lost in his eyes, his perfect nose, the dimple in his chin, any of his features really. It’s been so long since we’ve been this close. I lean in, his lips like a magnet summoning my own, when a knock comes at the door.

“Expecting someone?” he whispers. I search my brain for who could be interrupting this perfect moment. Then I remember.

“Yeah, pizza.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, and when a second impatient knock sounds it snaps me out of my daze. “I hope you’re hungry,” I tell him, remembering I ordered two larges. 

“Starved.” His voice sounds an octave lower than normal and the look he’s giving me makes me want to forget all about the delivery guy who’s on his third round of belligerent knocking. No tip for him. 

I literally crack the door just wide enough to yank the two boxes through the opening and the shut it just as quickly. Peeta takes the boxes from me and tosses them on the small coffee table before he reaches for me, and we finish what we started at the airport all those months ago. It’s not sweet, and it’s not gentle. The ache I feel from being apart so long is raw and real and needy. And from the way Peeta’s lips devour me, I know he feels it, too. 

When he tugs at my hips I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries us to the bedroom. When he sets me down on the bed, he strips me, and then himself, completely bare. The sheets are cool on my skin. A sharp contrast to his hands, warm and searching, remembering their way around my body. Every part of me eagerly responds to his touch. I don’t keep track of the time we spend tangled together. All I know is when we finally make our way back into the kitchen, the pizza has long been cold. We eat in relative silence, me in Peeta’s shirt, and him in his boxers, smiling at each other like we just opened up presents on Christmas morning, and in a way we have. It’s been a long wait. 

________________________________________

I sip the coffee Peeta made before he left for the bakery on the porch swing, a blanket wrapped tightly around me. Little puffs of white breath float upwards in the crisp, fall air. The trees in Panem are gorgeous this time of year and I take every opportunity to enjoy being back. Life is good. Better. I don’t even miss L.A. like I thought I would. This is where I’ve always belonged.

As soon as I returned, Prim and Rory moved into a small house across town, and I took over Mom’s care. It’s nothing more really than babysitting. She’s not an invalid. Mom just needs someone around to cook and clean, keep her company in the evenings, and make sure she takes her medications. She’s not a burden at all and I find that I rather enjoy being part of this life again. 

Prim is only 8 weeks away from giving birth, and her nesting instincts are on high alert. The house is always tidy and spotless, diapers stocked and baby clothes neatly arranged in drawers. The mobile is hung, the walls are painted a pale purple, and the carseat is snug in the back of Prim’s car. The wall plugs are covered as well, even though my niece won’t be able to touch them until 9 months from now. 

Peeta doesn’t live here with me, but he stays over almost every night. He hasn’t brought up anything more about our future, no marriage or moving in together, and I’m certain he’s allowing me to set the pace. He seems content to live as we are, but I’m not. I’m ready to move forward. Today I’m going to buy some of the items I know he uses regularly, like his shampoo and soap, a new toothbrush and some other personal items. I want to clean out a few drawers and make space in my closet for his things, then slip into his apartment above the bakery and snag some of his clothing. I’m better with actions than words anyway. 

When I get to the bakery I run quickly down into the basement to gather Peeta’s paints. I’m hoping to spark his interest in it again, but I pull up short and lose my breath when I see the fresh canvases lining the wall. Silver eyes stare back at me, full of life and hope and happiness. Me, sitting in a chair barefoot at Prim’s wedding. Me, looking over my shoulder as I walk into the airport. Me, running to something with my arms open, a duffel bag slung over my shoulder and a huge smile lighting my face. Me, eyes closed and cheeks flushed, hair fanned across a pillow. They’re not all of me, some are landscapes from around town. Places we used to go together, like the lake and the woods. I can tell he’s been working on these for a while, and seeing them gives me confidence that I’m doing the right thing. 

It’s 3 when Peeta comes by the house after closing the bakery, just like he does every day. My stomach is a knotted mess when I lead him up the stairs to see what I’ve done. 

“What is this?” he asks carefully when he sees his clothing hanging in the closet. 

“I thought you could keep some things here,” I answer, walking into the bathroom and pointing out the toiletries he uses. “You know, since you practically live here anyway.” He follows me and an easy smile takes over his face after he scans the room, pulling the shower curtain back and checking drawers for more of his things. 

“Are you asking me to move in?” I nod at his correct assumption, not trusting my voice to communicate what he already senses. “It’s a little quick don’t you think?” 

My mouth goes dry and I think I may vomit. Good thing we’re near the toilet. The fear that I may have crossed the line seizes me, and Peeta sees it.

“I’m joking, Katniss,” he says, reaching out for me, and my lungs fill with air again. I smack him in the chest and give him the dirtiest scowl I can. He laughs at me and catches my arm, pulling me flush against him. He kisses me until I can’t see straight. Until I burn for him and can think of nothing else but having him. 

After, when we’re wrapped up in each other, he whispers to me, “There’s no place else I’d rather be.”

________________________________________

“She’s perfect,” I sigh, staring at Emmalyn’s peaceful, 22 hours-old face. She has little wisps of blonde hair just on the top of her head, and the poutiest pink lips that keep puckering in and out while she sleeps. She’s tiny in my arms and only squirms when I stop rocking back and forth. 

“Thank you,” Prim says from the hospital bed. Rory is perched on the edge of the mattress at her side. “I’m so glad you were here for this, Katniss.” Me, too. I wouldn’t have missed it anyway, but having been back in Panem for half a year allowed me to be part of Prim’s pregnancy and help fix up the baby’s room, and do a countless number of things I never imagined I’d get to do. 

“Can I get you anything?” Rory asks Prim as I continue to cradle their little bundle of joy. A squeaky sigh leaves her lungs and if I wasn’t already head over heels for this little girl, I would be now. 

“Peeta said he was bringing lunch for us at noon,” I tell them, barely giving them my attention.

“What a good brother-in-law,” Prim says cheekily. I’m not ignoring her enough to let that slip by. 

“Stop it, Prim,” I scold her. “It hasn’t even been six months.” 

“You know you want it, Katniss,” Prim says with the tone of an adolescent. 

“What are we, twelve? Can you speak to me like an adult, please?” 

“Fine. I want a blond brother who bakes and wants to give me a house full of cousins for my kids to play with.” She widens her eyes at me in a ‘so there’ way. 

“I’m not pushing him, Prim,” I warn her. “If he wants something more, he’ll let me know.” She and I have had this discussion several times. She’s been reduced to blubbering tears about her baby never having cousins and her sister becoming a spinster, even though Peeta and I have officially been back together since the day I found him standing in my apartment. It was hard to ignore the sobbing most days, but I was pretty sure it was the hormones talking and not my Prim.

“Anyone call for a bacon, egg and avocado panini?” Peeta says breezing through the doorway holding a large paper sack. 

Prim claps her hands together and lets out a squeal of delight. “My favorite!” Emmalyn stirs in my arms and I shush Prim. Honestly, sometimes I think she’s still a giggly teenager instead of a new mother. She makes an ‘oops’ face and I can’t help but roll my eyes comically at Peeta. One side of his mouth turns up in a sexy half-smile, and quickly the other side joins when he looks at Emmalyn for the first time. I can see the wonder in his eyes and it’s not even his own child. 

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers in awe, and my heart clenches as I watch him watching her. His fingers ghost over the few light hairs sprinkled over an otherwise adorably bald head. “Hey there, sweet girl.” he coos. Emmalyn’s fingers instinctively fist around his thumb when he grazes it across her tiny palm. His gaze flits back and forth between me and the baby a few times.

“You look good holding a baby,” he tells me quietly, flashing me a nervous smile. He doesn’t need to be nervous, though. Looking at my niece’s tiny fingers and tiny toes, and watching how she stretches when she yawns, and the fact that she is an exact replica of Prim, makes me wonder what Peeta’s and my baby would look like. Dark hair and blue eyes? Would a boy have his strong jaw and gentle demeanor? Would a girl have my olive coloring and innate stubbornness?

“I could get used to this,” I reply, my eyes leaving Emmalyn’s porcelain face briefly to see Peeta’s reaction. It’s full of hope and wonder as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear. 

“Really?” His blue eyes search mine diligently for an answer, and his thumb swipes gently back and forth across my cheek. 

“Yeah. Really.” It’s the middle of the day, but his smile illuminates the room. I glance back at my niece, my grin rivaling Peeta’s, and I know everything I’m telling him is the absolute truth. I’m ready. Ready for all of it - the ring, the marriage, the house with the picket fence and the blond children running around it. I no longer fear turning out like my mother, or Peeta doing to me what my father did to his wife. 

I trust Peeta completely. But, more importantly, I trust myself.

________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for sticking with it when it seemed like Everlark couldn't grow back together. And thank you a TON for commenting and leaving such great, well-thought out reviews. They really shaped my story and helped it along. If you would be so kind as to give this fic one last comment, I would appreciate it! I'm on tumblr as Peetabreadgirl. Thanks again!


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